Day 15: Chicago, IL

Today we woke up in a very comfortable room in a boutique hotel smack in the middle of the great Lakeview District of Chicago.  Boystown behind us, the ocean-like Lake Michigan in front of us, downtown Chicago to the right, and Wrigley Field to the left.  The sun is shining onto our top floor suite.  Outside there is the bustle of a seriously big city crawling along Broadway street.  We make ourselves pretty and become part of the bustle.

It's Mothers Day.  My sweet Willow is sadly away from her beautiful and brilliant girl for the first time in 23 years. I know she is still 22... but I wish I could have been there when Willow was 8 months pregnant.  I know that she celebrated Mothers Day for the first time 23 years ago.  Her stupid husband at the time, who thankfully had no idea that he was with Goddess and she was pregnant with an angel, certainly didn't celebrate with her.  She did though. She did it quietly. She fretted a little about the kind of mom she would be.  She thought about her babies little toes and how she couldn't wait to nibble on them.  She thought about holding her close when she cried.  She thought about the beam that would overcome her face when her little girl would smile.  She wondered how sweet the sound would be when her baby first uttered that beautiful word 'momma'.  She wondered if the man she chose would step up and be the kind of father that her baby deserved.  She's just that kind of mom.  She spent the next 22 years being a role model and friend.  She was a consummate mom.  She was there when she needed to be picked up, but she never stood in the way of a fall.  She knew that falling was the best way to learn not to fall.  She was a comfortable lap.  She nourished and nurtured.  She was momma.  She was beauty.  She gave to her kids everything and took nothing.  She loved that little girl 23 years ago and fell in love with her more each day.  She was mother to my boy when he needed it.  She was love to him too.  This day, another Hallmark day, is so much more important to me than any of the other days.  Celebrating my Willow, which I try to do all the time, is so much more important today than any other day.

As we walk we seek the best place for Mother's Day brunch that we can find.  In typical Joseph fashion, our walk is only about 5 minutes and the location is perfect.  Angelina's Ristorante is an exceptional find for Mother's Day brunch.  We walk in and are immediately seated.  Our mimosas arrive and are bottomless.  Our food is delicious.  The wait staff... wait fuck this!!  I have to take a moment to protest.  Look!  Everybody knows that women are beautiful and men are just the guys who get to be with those beautiful women.  Men aren't deemed 'the fairer sex'.  Men haven't had important pieces of art made to celebrate their beauty.  Men don't have songs written in worship of their shape and their softness.  Women think women are beautiful.  Men think women are beautiful.  There are some men that are very beautiful, but they are the exception.  For the most part they are gross.  Hair growing out of everywhere.  Farts introduce their every movement.  I love being a man, but let's face it we are tolerable at best.  We are not beautiful creatures, neither physically nor emotionally.  But Chicago, at least Lakeview and downtown and the park turns things completely upside down.  I have never been to a city with so many meh looking women.  Not all of them are especially ugly... their just meh.  But the men, holy shit!  There are good looking men EVERYWHERE!  It was all I could do to not be in a constant stream of urination on Willow making sure that every man in the city knew that this was my lady.  Anyway back to our brunch, I tried harder than ever to make intelligent conversation with Willow so as to distract her at least a little from the ridiculous buffet of eye-candy that was the wait staff, the hosts, the cooks, the bus boys, every creature that worked there was another potential reason why Willow might leave me for Chicago.  Her eyes darted around like she was in the middle of a giant pinball game.  "So what do you think of Obama's support of gay marriage?"  "A little risky right now I think, but I am really proud of him!"  "Willow?!  Can you hear me... I was just saying that's quite the statement Obama made... I just think it's about time... Willow?  Sweetie??... "

We finish our breakfast and I rush her out of there.  We walk around a little in Lakeview - decide it is better to spend evenings rather than days there and we hail a cab to head downtown.

Our first stop is Millennium Park.  This relatively new park sits right on the lake and contains many attractions including the Jay Pritzger Pavilion, The Bean, some cool water features, amazing people watching, oh yeah and the Art Institute of Chicago.  It's a great park.

We walk into downtown.  Downtown Chicago is breathtaking.  The architecture is outstanding.  The history is rich.  There are bridges EVERYWHERE!  The Chicago river runs through the middle of downtown. The buildings reflect off the river creating natural art in a city created with and filled with art. The downtown area, known as The Loop area, is enormous.  I have to try to explain this to Portlanders who haven't been here...  Skyscrapers go on for about 20 miles north to south along Lake Michigan.  I would estimate that those skyscrapers are about 10 miles deep east to west.  They don't consider all of this downtown though.  I know... I know... they are fucking weird.  They consider The Loop to be 'downtown' as if once you reach the Chicago river, you have left downtown and are now in the burbs.  Anyway it would be impossible to even explore The Loop in less than several days.  We have just a couple of days in Chicago and only a few hours to scratch the surface of this beautiful area.

We stop for lunch in the first hoity toity food place we find.  To us, it feels like an institution. It sits on the Chicago river.  It is 75 degrees and sunny on the deck.  The waiters are old and in proper waiter attire.  It is Smith and Wollensky... and it also happens to be shite.  Drinks are $12 each.  We aren't really that hungry but order a little nosh to go with our drinks.  Neither of us are wearing good walking shoes, so the longer we sit in front of our drinks the better.  Our waiter was a hack.  Our drinks were fine.  Our nosh was disgusting.  We had something simple.  a half dozen oysters on the half shell and a half dozen clams on the half shell.  They were brought to us with amateur presentation with some Heinz cocktail sauce and some horseradish.  This was $16 and $19 respectively.  The oysters and clams weren't rinsed.  Any edible mollusk has to be thrown in to fresh water while they are still alive.  After about 30-60 minutes in cool fresh water those mollusks will spit out the sand they have taken in while they themselves try to eat food from their sandy surroundings.  If you don't do this then the consumer of these mollusks gets a mouth full off crunchy sand in each otherwise delicious bite.  You also have to use your sharp kitchen knives to remove the meat from the shell.  Especially with raw clams.  These things are super glued to their shells and nearly impossible to remove with a mere fork.  Anyway our nosh stop sucked ass... I probably spent more time than it was worth complaining about it... but I just want to make sure that you 3 readers of my travel blog don't go to this place... that'll show em!!  screw up my meal will ya!!??!!

After another couple of hours of walking around drinking up the sights, we end up at the Downtown Bar & Lounge.  It is a beautiful bar.  The bartender is super cool.  He loves Portland. The 2 others that were there were also friendly and told us not only about the things that we needed to do while we are in Chicago, but even what restaurants we needed to check out in Milwaukee.  After a few drinks we share a cab with them back to the North Side. We head back to our hotel to freshen up and then it's off to delicious Yoshi's for dinner.

Side Note for our Amy Jermain (of the Brussels Jermains).. we really wanted to take your advice.  We don't know anybody more qualified to make restaurant suggestions.  Not only do you know your shit.. but you know us.  You know what we like and you know which chefs can deliver.  We trust you completely.  It was more a matter of neighborhood and familiarity.  We just kind of ended up at places.. we didn't make reservations and make dinner the focal point of our night.  We walked upon a place, looked at each other - "Are you hungry?" "Yeah I could definitely eat"... and we went in.  We are DEFINITELY coming back to Chicago for a longer stay.  When we do, we will either bring you with us to take us on a culinary trip this town or we will follow your advice.

Yoshi's was fucking delicious. Our service was impeccable.  The food was prepared perfectly. 

After our great meal at Yoshi's and the beautiful sunset we head down Halsted street.  The first place we pop into is the Town Hall.  You can tell just by looking at the exterior of this unassumming little place that it's the straightest bar in the neighborhood.  There's no uncha-uncha-uncha music bellowing out of it's tiny windows.  We walk in.  It's comedy night.  A little intimidated, we walk in and crowd around the back, until we are beckoned to the front by the performers.  This free show turned out to be incredible.  We laughed so hard we were crying.  Not all of the performers were great... but definitely enough of them were to make it more than worth it to be there.

You know how Portland is a really diverse city.  Well it's really not.  Portland has 16 black people and we keep chasing them all over the damn city.  Don't get me wrong, we love black culture in Portland.. so much so that we smother it. Every time we get word that the black people have set up camp in a new neighborhood we rush to that neighborhood to see what kinda fun the blacks are up to, make their housing prices go through the roof until they are forced to sneak away in the middle of the night to yet another new neighborhood.  They are currently pretty pissed off at us white folks for moving them out to 181st.  Who the hell wants to live near 181st?!  We also like to think of ourselves as pretty gay friendly yet we have zero lesbian bars and only a few gay bars.  I know... I know.. I know... many of you will say 'well every bar is a lesbian bar'  uhhh well yeah NO.  For a city the size of Portland, we should have more black people and we shouldn't get our knickers in a bunch every time we see one of them.  What the hell is wrong with us!? Portland should have a gay district.  I would like to take this opportunity to propose 181st as this new fabulous neighborhood.

The point of the above paragraph isn't to bitch about Portland but simply to state that Chicago actually is diverse.  There are so many people here and truthfully in our short trip here, we didn't see any signs of homophobia or any outward signs of racism.  It was nice.

After comedy at the Town Hall, we bar-hopped at a few other bars.  We went to to Sidekicks where we watched classic videos on the big screen, drank our normal drinks, chatted with each other and occasionally others, and did shots with the bartenders until closing. 

Outside, in a daze from being so rudely and quickly ushered out... just as things were starting to get fun, we stand among the pretty boys smoking their final cigarettes of the night, discussing with one another tomorrow nights debauchery.  We overhear some making plans for the next bar.  The next bar? The bars are closed now.  You silly queers there is no 'next bar'!!  Remember when we were inside a few minutes ago and the guy behind the bar yelled "last call!!" and then the lights went on and the music went off and we were practically shoved out the door?  That means that we either drunkenly walk to somebody's house or we go home... that's what that has always meant!

NOPE!

Not in Chicago.  You see there was a law that passed that made bars close at 2:30.  But they allowed bars that were already open at the time the law was made to stay open until they wanted to.  Apparently there are many bars that, despite how unhealthy this is for the Joseph's,  want to stay open until 5am.  We follow one of the nicer gentleman and his cute hag to The Berlin where we eventually finish our night.

Tomorrow is another day in Chicago....

Until then!

Day 14: Cape Girardeau, MO to Chicago, IL

Today we are off to Chicago, IL.

We started the day heading towards St. Louis.  Like usual on this trip, we were hell bent to stay off of main or interstate highways. We did this to see the country not to get places. Our time is never spent focused on the destination. We are always enjoying our journey.  The windy roads through SE Missouri were beautiful.  We were on the bluffs above the mighty Mississippi River.  We passed through town after town.  Missouri is the eastern beginning of the end of wide open spaces.  There are still plenty of forests. There are places you could walk for hours without seeing people.  There are, though, towns every 10 miles.  There's just a little town with a small to medium size downtown areas dotting the countryside.  As you slow down in each one of these towns, you scratch your head trying to figure out how a town of 500 people could support such a big auto dealership.  You also quickly learn where Walmart's bread is buttered.  It's buttered with a stick on each side in these parts.  Empty storefronts in the aforementioned downtown areas are proof enough of that.

The cutest and most interesting of all the towns we visited, at least in Missouri, is Ste Genevieve.  Buildings dating from the late 1700's line the streets.  Missouri has a rich history that includes French colonization in the late 1600's.  There is even a language called Missouri French that is now nearly extinct. I, myself, come from a rich French heritage.  In yesterday's blog I discussed the county named after my family, Bollinger.  Bollinger is now pronounced just how it sounds.... but maybe with a little more southern drawl than you would automatically use.  But it's a French name.  I'll try to do this phonetically.. It is pronounced bo-leen-jayr.  The French colonization is nowhere more evident than in the architecture of Ste. Genevieve.   As a side note, there was heavy Irish immigration in Missouri in the 1860's and 1870's.  This, along with Native American, is where I get most of my ancestry.

We knew we weren't making great time but we couldn't help stop and snap a few pictures and let Willow pee at least twice. It's important to let Willow pee before you get in the car on a long 20 minutes before the next pee. 

We threatened to have some lunch in this cute little place, but we got a little late start and then we meandered more than we anticipated and it was continuing to get later and later.

So we headed to St. Louis.  St. Louis is a really cool city, full of music, and food, and architecture, parks, and friendly people.  We still had 280+ miles to go to get to Chicago when we arrived and it was already after 2 when we pulled in.  So we decided on a little leg stretch at the Arch.  When we got there, I was actually gonna take Willow to the top, but the wait turned out to be over an hour... so we got some pictures, walked a couple of miles, and loaded ourselves back in the car.

It's off to our destination state of Illinois!!  

This was to be the most painful state line picture yet.  We crossed one bridge (over the Mississippi) and the damn "Welcome to Illinois" sign was in the middle of the bridge.  So we headed back into Missouri and found another crossing at Alton, IL.  This wasn't so easy either.  The sign above was at the tail end of bridge.  There was no parking anywhere.  So I just parked on the street (you can see our car behind my head), threw the hazards on, stated over and over again that I was a tourist from Oregon.  I setup the tripod to all sorts of funny looks, got our picture, and got outta there.

We hadn't eaten for quite a while by this time.  We decided that we better get a bite in Alton before buckling down for the next 6 hours of driving.  We happened upon a little walk up window called Fast Charlie's Chicken.  Oh hellz yes!   As I stood in line, mouth salivating, I watch women and children, men and boys walk up to the window ordering gizzards, chicken livers, fried chicken, ice cream, deep fried cauliflower, okra.  I know I am an atheist, but I can't help but think that this is where people from Missouri go to after they die, if of course they have been stellar citizens and honest mates.  They would have had to spend their life worshiping the good chicken with hot sauce and fried okra.  If they didn't they were destined to a life below swimming in a sea of original recipe and KFC cole slaw - not so bad really.  The chicken was good.  The deep fried cauliflower and okra were outstanding.  Because it was all deep fried, I resisted getting a chocolate malt.  I will regret that decision for the better part of my life. 

Our bellies full, we start the long winding beautiful country drive to Chicago.

We will arrive in this quaint little city after a beautiful drive through scenic Illinois!!   <record scratches across the record> <the music stops> <everybody turns to stare at me as if I just played a Metallica tune from my ass bugle>

Illinois was the most boring state we have driven through thus far...and we drove through Nebraska!!

We gave country roads a shot for about 2 hours.  I am always itching to stop and snap some photos.   There were no photos to be had.  After those 2 wasted hours, we headed to the biggest fastest interstate we could find and headed for the biggest city I have ever been in.

Chicago is huge.  I know that it is nearly a 3rd of the population of New York.  I have been to New York and LA.  The only 2 cities in the United States bigger than Chicago.  Chicago just feels bigger than both of them though.  It goes on for hours.  Most of downtown, they don't even call downtown.  It's  neighborhood after neighborhood separated by nothing.  It takes a good 3 hours to get from one side to the other.  I don't know... it just seems so huge.  It's also cool as hell!  More on that in tomorrow's blog.

Tonight we had every intention of checking in, prettying ourselves up a bit, and heading out for food and beverages.  We just didn't have it in us.  We ate some of the Dexters ribs we have been keeping chilled with us and drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow we'll be walking the streets of Chicago... drinking in what it has to offer.   Until then....


Our route today: http://g.co/maps/x7a6w

Day 13: Cape Girardeau, MO

Yesterday was a long day. We slept hard for almost 9 hours last night.  For those that don't know me. That is nothing short of whatever a miracle is to an atheist.

We woke up, got ready, and didn't even leave the hotel until after noon. 

Today's blog is gonna be kinda short.  We didn't do that much and what we did do I didn't get many pictures of.  I really regret not getting any pictures of my nieces.  I meant to... but was so busy visiting with them when I was with them that I didn't get pictures!!  What kind of shit bag photographer doesn't get pictures of something so meaningful to him?!?

Anyway.. we left the hotel and headed for downtown Cape Girardeau.  Cape, as it is lovingly referred to, is the "city" that I lived in right before moving to Phoenix, AZ.  Right before we lived in Cape we lived in Patton (see yesterdays blog entry).

Cape is situated in Southeastern Missouri right on the Mississippi River.  It has grown considerably since I lived here as a kid.  It is now home to various meth addicted white trash tire center workers, gangs (really? these must be gangs that were not quite bad ass enough to make it in Memphis - 150 miles south or St; Louis - 120 miles north), and a bunch of right-to-lifer-church-attending-do-gooders-with-too-many-kids-and-no-desire-to-know-anything-about-anything-except-what-the-church-tells-them-to-know.  In other words, it's a sad little place but it is rich with history and beauty. 

Our first stop was for some food at Port Cape Girardeau.  It was too late for our typical first meal of the day regardless of the time, breakfast.  So instead I had Catfish, Fried Okra, and Mac-n-Cheese.  Willow had a Po Boy bursting with catfish and calamari.  We had an appetizer of southern nachos.  Crispy homemade tortilla chips smothered in pork rib meat, baked beans, tomatoes, onion, and barbecue sauce.  Some of you are thinking "gross", but let me tell ya... this was some good shit!

Cape is geographically weird.  It is in Missouri so people automatically think "Midwest", but it really isn't. It was a French settlement and was incorporated as a city in the late 1700's.  It's on the edge of the Ozarks and it's heart is buried deep in the south.  In Cape, you eat crawdads, you eat oysters, you eat po boys and beans and rice.  Black-eyed peas, Hominy, and greens are always on the menu.  The best ribs in the country live here.  They are smoked.  They fall off the bone.  They don't do barbecue sauce.  They dry rub their ribs and if you are so inclined to put sauce on those ribs, you can put it on yourself after they bring em to the table.  They like their hot sauce unlike those in the midwest who replaced hot sauce with mild creams - like cream of mushroom soup.  They eat seafood and they cook like their French and African American ancestors.  So we ate.

We spent the afternoon walking around Cape taking in the sights, popping into one antique store after another.  Walking along and sticking our feet in the muddy Mississippi.  Watching trains roll by, climbing up the steps to the courthouse and looking out over downtown and the river.

We head back to the hotel to wash some of the humidity drenched sweat off of us.  Emily and her sweet man meet us there.  We hang out, look at too many pictures, and talk some more.  We decide on Broussards for dinner.  We meet Sarah, Leelah, and Michael there.  I order a dozen oysters for Willow and I to share.  Emily's fiance, Justin tries them and didn't mind them too bad.  We waited a little over an hour for Sarah and her family to arrive.  I cleverly planted myself next to Leelah.  Frickin Hell that is one cute little girl!!!  For dinner I have boiled crab legs and a huge plate of whole crawdads.  Encouraged to 'suck dai hedz', I opted instead to eat them like a dignified Oregonian... just the tails peeled and dipped in garlic butter.

We spent 2 1/2 hours at Broussards.  Sarah worked 13 hours this day before meeting us... she and Leelah were tired.  Emily, Justin, Willow and I walked around Cape a little before parting ways.

Pretty uneventful... but every moment I got to spend with either of those girls was amazing.  I love them both with all of my heart and I will not let so much time pass before seeing them again!  Before this trip I had no connection to family... now all I want is to be around my family.  I want to be a part of my heritage.  I want the connection to both my genes and the land and language and food that made me who I am.  I'll be back soon and often and I will be an Uncle and a friend to these girls who need family also.

Tomorrow we are off to Chicago.  The emotional middle of this trip is over.  It's back to bars and restaurants and just Willow and I.  We hope to meet Chicago's inhabitants and eat it's food and see breathtaking sights.  We hope to be buried in it's architecture and it's history.

Until then... goodnight!

Day 12: Eldon, MO to Cape Girardeau, MO

It was another great night of sleep.  Insomnia seems to be taking a holiday in Missouri.  I suppose the humidity is just too much for it. Mom sleeps in her bed as we ready ourselves for another long day of driving.  My sister fluffs her hair and paints her face between mirrors that we aren't using.  I pack the car... kinda loud.  Even though mom is sick, I wanna wake her so I can spend as much time as possible with her.  We need to leave by 10am at the latest, it's a long windy road today with lots of stops for pictures.

Mom finally wakes up.  I hug her good morning.  We are both sad... we try to hide it but it's as clear as fireflies that we are.  She goes to the kitchen to take her morning cocktail of a dozen pills or so.  I follow. She blurts out unexpectedly "I am so sorry that I was never the mother that you needed.  I wish I could take it back."  My heart pounds as it sneaks its way into my throat.  "Oh mom", I say in almost a whisper, " you were a kid!  I'm not gonna lie, you weren't the best mother in the world, but you were just a kid.  You had a terrible life that had nothing to do with me.  You did what you could".  I see tears welling up in her eyes.  I give her a hug.  The little needles in the bags under my eyes begin to vibrate.  Tears form in the corners of my eyes.  I ask her if she wants me to read what I wrote about coming here.  She replies in the affirmative.  So I read the blog entry from a couple of days ago out loud.  My voice noticeably quivering as I read it. My heart now thumping in my throat.  I feel like a little boy, afraid to let his mom know that he was hurt, still wanting to impress her as I did at 8.  I finish.  Tears are rolling down her face.  I hurt like a triple trailer just ran over my heart and then backed up and ran over it again.  I have a hard time breathing.  She looks right in my eyes and says "That was beautiful".  We hug again and say no more.  It's all I needed.  It's all I wanted.  I didn't want her to feel bad, nor should she.  I just wanted to say what I needed to say and it was like a warm bath after a long day of work on the farm.  I knew sleep would be good again.

10am was approaching fast.  The bags were loaded into the car.  Everybody was ready except my mom and I.  She kept bargaining for a few more minutes... each time I accepted the bargain.  I wanted to end the road trip right there.  I wanted to just stay right there.  I wanted a stick of butter in every meal from then on out.  We finally pull away from each other and sobbing I walk what seemed like 12 miles to the car.  Snot running onto my lip,  the cloth on my shoulder wiping it away.  Tears rolling off my cheek onto my chest, I step into the car.  I try to take deep breaths but breaths don't come easily. I can hardly see as I back out the car.  Mom sits on the porch alone.  It's all I can do to pull out of the driveway waving, blowing snot filled kisses, crying out loud like a 4 year old being left at day care for the first time.

Finally we are out of sight.

Grateful that my best friend is with me... she cries too.  We hold each others hands as I drive.  The tears still flow, but talking, saying anything, makes the knot unwind.  I say "that was fucking hard!".  Willow agrees.  Mom thanked her for taking such good care of me.  I think Willow felt sad for the anger she has felt towards mom.  She feels sad for how sad I am.  She feels sad for how sad mom was.  It took a good half hour for us to calm down.  It's just a sad fucking morning... not quite the saddest I can remember, but right up there.  

Somehow we made it to the restaurant recommended to us by my sister, The Silver Dollar.  We  sit down.  The waitress asks how we are.  Our eyes are bloodshot and our voices sound like they should after such a sob.  I let her know that it's not her that is making us so sad, "We just said goodbye to Mom."

By the time we finish picking at our food, we're ok. We pull ourselves back into the car and head for the heart of the Ozarks and beyond to those beautiful nieces in Cape Girardeau.

The first stop we make is in a little town called Tuscumbia, Missouri.  Now, I don't mean to continue this sad sap bullshit about mom or anything, but Tuscumbia is important to the story line.  When I was about 8 we went to visit my grandpa and my aunt in Tuscumbia.  They lived together in a quaint little single wide trailer.  We went up on a summer Saturday afternoon some 4 hours or so from St. Louis.  We spent the night as we had before.  On Sunday morning we got up and had breakfast with sweet tea like so many other normal Sunday mornings.  This Sunday was to be a bit different though.  The bag that was packed for me held more than just enough clothes for the night.  My parents left Tuscumbia.  I stayed for the next 14 months or so.  Nobody ever told me I was staying.  When my parents left, in similar tears described above I was told they would be back the following weekend.  They didn't come back.   I enrolled in school.  I tried to wrap my tiny little brain the best I could around what had happened, but I never could.  This was beyond the neglect that I had suffered my entire short life.  This was abandonment.  This was like taking a beaten puppy and dropping him off at the park at the edge of town.  It sucked.  But here I am.

Tuscumbia is a little town of about 80 people.  When I lived here I spent a lot of my time playing outside of the bar that is now burnt to the ground.  I have a deep scar on the inside of my left hand that reminds me of this place and it's loneliness, it's trade of money to a poverty stricken aunt and grandfather in return for "watching over" a child nobody wanted.  The main road was nestled between that old bar and the beautiful lazy Osage River.  The Osage River is damned and is the source of the Lake of the Ozarks.  It's much more beautiful than I remember it.  I wish I could have seen how beautiful when I lived here.  This is the place of a few happy memories too.  It was my first kiss.  She was beautiful and a grade older.  Her name was Misty.  It's telling that I can remember the kiss, where I stood, what her lips on mine felt like, exactly the shape of her eyes.  I can remember what her breath felt like on my chin and in my mouth. So many other memories have permanently been banished, but this one remains strongly in tact.

I spoke with a guy that owned the place next to the scarred foundation that used to house that bar.  He was nice. He was an executive chef and owned much of the river front property in Tuscumbia. He wants to turn it into a vacation destination.  I wish him success, but I wouldn't mind if the rest of the town burnt down along with that bar.

Away we go....

We wind our way deep into the Ozark Mountains.  The road twists and turns.  The ups and downs leave us with our stomachs in our chests.  They were fun roads.  They were beautiful roads. The forests were thick.  The hills they call mountains provided a few stunning vistas.

We come across Meramec State Park.  We pay our $5 entry fee, mostly so Willow can use their restroom.  We are pleasantly surprised by the beauty here.  There is a spring that bubbles up some 100 million gallons per day of Blue Berry Blast Kool-Aid at the bottom of a large granite cliff.

We stretch our legs walking around this beautiful space.  We hold hands.  We kiss and flirt with each other like we do.  We remind ourselves how fucking lucky we are. Willow feeds the very hungry fish.

We head down the road.  It's been almost 5 hours on the road.  We're not making very good time.  We don't much care.  Up and down.... round and round... stomach still in knots and the views still amazing.

 We stop for a great lunch at the adorable Bixby Country Store in Bixby, MO.

Although it is getting pretty late, and now we ARE panicking a little, we stop at the Johnson Shut-Ins State Park. We literally run for about 3/4 of a mile to get to the actual shut-ins.  We don't really care by this time... all we really care about is getting a couple of pictures.  Although it wasn't as beautiful - at least not as worthy as all of the giant forest center buildings with explanations of the geology of the shut-ins - as we thought it was gonna be, it was worth stopping at.  My rushed pictures don't do the average beauty justice.

It's getting late by the time we leave Johnson Shut-Ins. We still have 90 miles to go and we haven't stopped by the Patton House.

The Patton House is a house in Patton, MO.  Patton is in Bollinger County, MO.  My great great grandfather built this house in 1900.  His name was Russel Bollinger.  My great Grandfather, his son, Russel Junior and Granny Rose lived here. Their daughter Jane Bollinger married my Grandpa Dan Joseph.  They lived here.  My Dad, the son of Grandma Jane and Grandpa Dan, grew up here.  I lived in this house briefly with my parents.  I may have some of the early names wrong but the point is it has been in the family since it was built.   It is located in a giant county that bears my family name.  My grandma, needing assistance with her retirement, was better off with the house NOT in her name so she signed it over to my sister and then Grandma moved to Arizona. My sister ran into some legal trouble a few years back and sold the house for I am sure a paltry sum.  The house that had been in the family for 110 years was gone.  The first house in the county with electricity was no longer ours.  The first house in the county with indoor plumbing... gone!  I pull up on the house willing to knock on the new owner's door to let them know who I am, and to ask permission to take some pictures.

What do I see?  BANK OWNED!

I am just about as excited as I could possibly be.  Could I get this amazing piece of history back in the family?  What would I do with it?  I am not willing to move here.  Could it be a bed-n-breakfast? Could I rent it out?  It's only 20-25 minutes from Cape Girardeau.  Somebody could work in the city and live on 2 acres in an amazing community in an amazing house.  I called the next day and found out that the asking price was $54,900.  Somebody had made an offer of $50,000.  I was heart-broken.  $50,000 for a giant chunk of my family's history.  Some strange person... could own this big beautiful house for a 1/3 of what I make in a year!!  I told the agent to call me if the deal fell through.  We'll see what happens.

On our way out of Patton I tell stories to Willow of the great blizzard when my parents were in Acapulco, Mexico and as a young boy I was in the local paper for walking to every house during that record-breaking blizzard to ask older people what they needed from the store.  There was no electricity, there was little heat, and there was feet of snow.  My dog, Benji, and I went to eveyr single door, 50 or so.  The owner of the store that is no longer there opened just for me as I took my orders and made my deliveries.

We stopped by my great (great?) Aunt Irene's now long abandoned house.  This was a very humble farm house built around 1900 sometime... maybe before.  Built from river rocks from the creek on the property some 1/2 a mile away, it housed a similarly tough woman.  Aunt Irene was old when I was little.  I don't know how old, but I know she died at about 100 years old long before I moved to Portland some 21+ years ago.  I know she tended to her cows, to her garden, and to all the needs of the farm until the day she died.  The floor in her house was barely there... it was mostly dirt.  Every time I would visit, and that was often.  She would send me back to the Patton House with a bucket of homemade chocolate chip cookies.  They were amazing.

 Off to Cape we go.

It's been 12 years since we have seen my sister's kids.  They came to Portland to spend part of a summer with us.  We had an amazing time with them.  We took them to the Mountain, to the Gorge, to Seaside and Cannon Beach.  We took them to the Nehalem River where many of you heard the stories of Emily floating next to me in the river gazing at my Oregon lily white (ok.. ok.. more like ash gray) legs.  She says in a southern drawl that is only made more cute by it's 6 year old delivery vessel "Uncle Rob.... why do your legs look like a dead person has been floating in the river for a week?"  That same weekend, 9 year old Sarah scratched the bejeebus out of me for trying to throw her while we were in the pool.  She was tough then... she's tough now.

Sarah has the cutest and happiest and hammiest little girl in the world (well... my kids are the only exception).  Her name is Leelah.  She is my great niece.

 
 Sarah and her boyfriend,  leave..  it was time to put Leelah to bed.

Emily and her very sweet fiance Justin stick around.  We talk until 1am.

I love love love love those kids.

Tomorrow we will walk around Cape some and then get back together with the girls after work.

Until then....


Our route today: http://g.co/maps/akxhm

Day 11: Eldon, MO

We stayed up until 2:30 in the morning talking the night before.  The sleep was something like what I think normal people sleep like.  We awoke to the clitter clatter of a tiny sister making biscuits and gravy, bacon, and eggs.  The woman is 100 pounds with wet weights in her pockets.  She puts a stick of butter in just about everything she makes and stays 100 pounds. It's a miracle of Missouri.  They eat like the people they are... a three way mix between Ozark hillbillies, mid-westerners, and southerners. With a heavier percentage focused on the south.  The food is good.  Even simple food like our breakfast this morning was better than normal because she uses oil and she isn't afraid of salt or pepper. 

So Eldon is the northern gateway to the Lake of the Ozarks.  The Ozarks are beautiful. The Lake winds around like an Asian dragon and acts like the life-preserving blood pumping through a body made up of steep rolling hills and thick green forests.

The house that we occupy within this scenery seems perfect.

My mom loves her cat.  The indoor cats hiss and swipe at you as you walk by.  Funny kind of, but their hilarity make them no less bitches. The outdoor cat, Gracie, is sweet and just had babies.

After breakfast we all load into the car and head to mom's lake house. On the way, we stopped at one of my favorites.. a low water bridge

We arrive at the lake house with our mouths agape.  It sits right on the Lake of the Ozarks.  In the heart of the Ozarks.  It is beautiful!  The deck has stairs that lead right into the water

That's my mom sitting on Willow's right (your left... no YOUR LEFT!!). Next to her is my sister.

We spent the rest of the day sitting around the house talking about  our childhoods.  We laughed about the funny things.  We laughed about the painful times.  We laughed at the people that caused us the most pain.  My sister made another amazing dinner... ham, corn, sweet potatoes, cole slaw, and sweet tea.  Just another meal in the country. 

We headed to bed a little earlier tonight... exhausted from all the laughing.

\Tomorrow we leave here and head to Cape Girardeau through the heart of the Ozarks to see my nieces, Sarah Dawn and Emily Ann Willocks!!  So excited!!

Day 10: Peru, NB to Eldon, MO

Today was a day of anticipation for me.  I have been kind of nervous about this day.  This was the day that I was to come home... to the backwoods of Missouri.  I was born here some 29ish years ago to a 17 year old Marion and and a 19 year old Tim.  I spent a good part of my childhood trying to woo whatever love and affection I could get out of my mom.  When the woo wouldn't net the results I wanted, I tried my hand at being a fucker.  That seemed to work. I was pretty good at it.  I could out fucker the best of em'.  When my mom left Arizona to move back to Missouri, it didn't even cross my mind that she was leaving my dad.  She was leaving me.  I had caused this. I knew I had.  I have always been a narcissist. I got that from my mom.  It was my success in getting the attention I needed through a constant stream of fuckerness that resulted in a mom whose love I craved so badly to now be 1500 miles away.

My filterless humor came from her.  My ability to talk my way into or out of anything came from my mom.  My strange quiet confidence came directly from her.  These weren't things that she necessarily instilled in me... they were just biological or personality traits that I simply took from her.  I spent the years after she left tying to understand these things in me.. and how somebody could dare leave me. I tried spiritual drudgery... through highly intellectual books mostly of eastern origin... I tried to fuck as many girls as I could... I tried self punishment using whatever drugs, whatever drink I could scrape together.  I chased anybody that fell in love with me away.  I left them before they could leave me.

At 21, I met the woman who wouldn't let me leave, that wouldn't let me punish myself.  A woman who's love was stronger than my ability to be a fucker.  And that other woman, my mom, became less important to me.  All the screwed up shit that I seemed to be born with or in to, was a memory.  The attention and love I sought had arrived.  She drove here with me.  She's gonna drive back with me.

I sort of let my mom simmer on the back burner of my heart.  I always love her, but I could never get what I thought I needed from her and maybe got a little tired of trying.  Mostly though I don't think I liked who I became when I tried so hard.  I can be a stubborn asshole. I got that from my mom also.  So, happy with who I was with Willow, months would go by without a phone call.  Then years would go by.  The occasional call was always awkward.  When so much time slips past, you quickly run out of things to chat about.  Perhaps that awkwardness led to even longer periods of no contact. 

So here I was... one state over in Nebraska.  30 minutes or so away from the Missouri state line.  The anticipation of how this day was to play out running through my head from the time I awoke.  Art made us another simple, wholesome, and delicious breakfast.  I gotta tell you all....  Willow's dad and his wife Alison are about the coolest people on the planet.  Willow didn't always have a great childhood. In fact, much of it was worse than most of our childhoods.  She unfairly suffered a great deal.  But she got the best of both of her parents.  From her mom, she got beauty and deep compassion and passion in her voice.  She got generosity and strength and feminism.  From her father she received intellect, wit, a keen sense of awareness, vivid and interesting stories about everything, curls forever,  and the ability to love without thought. I love them both without condition, because together they made this perfect human being that I am lucky enough to be loved by.

The drive here was excruciating... each mile closer meant 1 minute less time to prepare. each mile closer was another minute closer to facing my neglect.  The scenery went from beautiful to so fucking beautiful.  It was beauty I remembered as a kid.  Big meadows hugged by thick forested hills with wildlife too private to come out until the sun gets a little lower in the sky.  

We pulled in to the house... a beautiful place... way out in the country.  I mean way out in the country.  40 acres of oak, maple, and walnut trees surrounding a porch swing attached to a porch, attached to a 1940's country house.  The sun was shining.  It was maybe 76 degrees and my heart was pounding.  Inside, the woman who's attention and love I sought for so many years was stirring around.

My sister provided clear warnings, "Now you know mom is not the same as you remember her.  She's gained a little weight.  She's older.".  She was attempting to brace me.  I pictured this little old overweight lady, feeble... barely healthy enough to lift her head to say hello.  I imagined that I would be visiting her by her bedside much of the time.

On the porch that holds the swing is Gary.  Only stories created in my head had prepared me for my mom's "new" husband (they have been together for 12 years - but to me he is new).  The first thing that strikes me is that this sure is a handsome and young fella to be with such a sick old lady. In addition to his home, he offered a warm handshake and a genuine voice.  I rush by looking for the bed that my mother is laid upon - gasping for breath.

There she is... she's beautiful.

She's not old.  She's not bed-ridden.  She's not overweight in the least.  She has the face she had when she was 25.  The pictures prove it.  Her eyes are warmer than I remember them.  Her smile as genuine but mischievous as always.  Her hug as needed as anything I can remember.  I melt from a man to a boy beside her.  We talk until past 2am.  I sit proudly beside her.  Reluctantly we go to bed where I sleep immediately and soundly like I you do when you are in Missouri.

Tomorrow we'll be here at the house most of the day visiting.  I don't think we are doing much so the blog will be a short one.

There is no internet connection here except the few little drops of internet I can get off of my phone way out here.  Because of that I can't load any pictures.  When I get to Cape Girardeau and get settled, I will update the blog for Thursday and add pictures.

Until next time!

Day 9: Peru, NE

Another day of rest.  When you're not really on vacation... you know like in a hotel at a beach, or in a cabin or whatever... when you drive 2000 miles in a week, it is really really nice to have a couple of days off.  When we were planning this trip a few weeks ago, we didn't know how much we would need a break after a week.  Art and Alison provided the best break we could have possibly hoped for.  We had time to relax.  We had nice family time.  We had good meals.  We had amazing conversations.  We had a little music - certainly not as much as Art or I would have liked, but we had some.  We got to stay in a part of Nebraska that is achingly peaceful.  It's country.  I mean that in every sense.  It's just country.  The oak trees, the dirt roads, the ravines, the "cities", the trucks, the storms, the birds, the dogs, the meals, the gardens, the accents, the farm equipment, the abandoned houses, the air that seems to breath history... it's all just so country. We got satellite radio when we got our new car and I could not take it off of Willie Nelson's Roadhouse station, the entire time we were here.

Today we slept in until about 8:30am.  I finished yesterday's blog.  I checked Facebook.  I read some news. All this from bed.  Our bed is in a straw bale house. Art and Alison built this house we are sleeping in, like they did their own, with their hands.  There something exceedingly safe about sleeping in a house that your wife's father fashioned with his own two hands. We finally got showered and out of the house around 10am.  Art made us an amazing breakfast with farm fresh eggs, potatoes, and toast with homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam and blackberry jam.  After breakfast Art, Willow, Daisy, Honey, and I headed on foot off to experience the 80 beautiful acres of Nebraska that Art and Alison own. The land has beautiful trees, deep ravines, song-filled birds of many colors, views of forever, history, and most importantly the root of a Willow.

After about 3 hours of walking to and fro, we returned to the house. We were late! It was time to visit Nebraska City where Alison works for drinks and dinner and a little sight-seeing.

We visited the Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center high above the Missouri River. We walked around downtown. We visited the historic courthouse where tales of grand murals are highly exaggerated.   We had an amazing dinner at the beautiful Lied Lodge.  After dinner, Willow and I meandered our way back to the house.  We visited a while.  We said our sad goodbyes to Alison and headed to bed.

Today we drive from Peru, Nebraska to Eldon, Missouri, deep in the Ozarks.  This is where my mom and my sister live.  I haven't seen my mom in 16 years.  It's been almost 12 years since I have seen my sister.   It won't be enough time, but it will certainly be better than no time.

I'll let you know what we see in between here and there tomorrow!

Day 8: Peru, NB

Today was the first day of just relaxing since we started the trip.  It was VERY nice.  Our little road weary brains needed a day like today.  I think I had become a little bit of an addict to driving though.  It didn't take me long after I woke up to start asking Willow to head into town.  I needed a fix and my pusher man, the Ford Escape, was just waiting for me to come back around.  We had a little caffeine and some of Alison's delicious banana bread and hopped back on the dope.

Peru is a very small town. It is, however, home to the oldest college in Nebraska.  Along with the college, there's a store, a bank, a post office, a restaurant, a bar, a museum, a VFW, and a hair salon. 

If you turn right at the fireplace just at the tail end of downtown, you can make your way to the Missouri River.

If you find yourself down there, you'll wanna say hi to Sampson.  Sampson is about 4 foot, loves the taste of frogs and long slithers on the beach.

When we returned to Art's house Willow's sister, Myfanwy had arrived with her two beautiful kids.  Her kids are Frances and Jack.

Frances

Jack

and after a while her step-brother, Reese, arrived with a busload of cute chidrens

Art smoked us up the best ribs I have had in a long long time.  Alison prepared all the fixins while the adults chatted and the kids chased bugs and what not. Willow and I don't get many family gatherings anymore, especially family gatherings with kiddos, so this was an especially nice day for us.

This was my first time meeting Myfanwy and Reese.  I kinda forgot that Reese existed until today.  I know that he was a character in one of Art's books, The Drownt Boy. But he's not on Facebook so naturally I assumed he was purely a fictional character.  I was way excited to meet Myfanwy though. Willow talks about her a lot.  She has a lot of pride that she has a sister in Nebraska that is "the sweetest person you will ever meet".  I was actually kinda nervous to meet her.  It's weird to be in a relationship for over 21 years and still get nervous when you meet your spouses family or special friends... but I do.  Every time Art comes to Portland, I call it Zit Week.  I break out like a teenage boy who used the inside of a big mac to wash his face.  Well... this time it was Myfanwy's fault. 

It was all maybe a bit too brief.  There were a lot of kids.  I think Reese has 7 kids and 6 of them were with him.  Myfanwy has 2.  So there were 8 cute little kids running around and me with my camera trying to get those damn shots.  I did talk with both Reese and Myfanwy, but I probably didn't spend enough time getting to know them.  We get another opportunity with Myfanwy in October when she will visit us in Portland.

Everybody hopped into their kid-mobiles and headed for bigger and more brightly lit pastures.  It was just the four of us, the dogs, and the impending storms.

Art and Alison very sweetly tried to assist me in capturing photos of the awesome lightning that was flickering around our heads.  I would like to blame my inability to do so on technical difficulties, but it was actually just my lack of know how.  I should have admitted this sooner.  I would have kept Art's back much drier.

We spent the evening chatting about this and that... all lively and agreeable conversations. We had a very nice snack, a little nip, and we headed off to bed.

Tomorrow... we spend another day relaxing before heading to Missouri on Tuesday morning.