So, here come the back-notes from the trip thus far. I won't guarantee excitement but I will try to be economic, dear reader. Bring on the humorous facts and curious anecdotes that are sure to be laced with a certain beautiful pathos. Yeah right. But I'll try to be interesting. Ok. Here we go.
Kelly and I rush to the airport after a long all-nighter of packing and last-minute decisions on exactly what to do with all-the-stuff-that's-still-left-in-this-frikn-apartment. Thanks to Tim Parker and Sam Sherman for helping us lug the boxes up the stairs at NVA. And to Sean Christopher for the late night tea visit.
We get in the car. It's a foggy San Diego morning. Traffic is poop. Still, we make the plane.
Turns out my third carry-on (one bag, two guitars) will cost an extra $100. The check-in guy decides we can tape the guitars together. I think this is brilliant. We tape the guitars together. Voila, two bags total. We head for the gate. Now, what happens next, dear reader, can never be truly defined by a simple writer like me. Not to it's fullest. For this is the moment that it all gets real. I had booked my flight months in advance. I packed and sold my belongings. I locked my truck and gave away the key. I had been discussing and planning this move for about three years. But not until now, when I look at my girl and begin to try to say goodbye, not until now does it all come forward.
The tears came on the second hug. We tried to keep it simple. We said goodbye for now. She walked away for what seemed like no reason at all. Neither one of us understood why she would just walk away after a hug. It didn't make sense, this getting-on-a-plane-without-you thing. I stood in line, teary-eyed. And if you know me, dear reader, you know I'm no longer a crier in my older, cynical years. Still, there I was, teary-eyed, standing in line puzzlingly alone.
And suddenly she was back for another hug. A few feet away from the security check point. Another hug, another impossible goodbye. We wave goodbye as she backs up down the terminal to the escalator, slowly dipping below the horizon. I remove my backpack and place it in a tub in preparation for the conveyor belt. "Babes!" I hear. And she is there again, leaning over the waist-high line divider. The other passengers are aware of us. Security is aware of us. She is 10 feet away. Do I leave my bag? Stall the line? I do. The people see and let it happen. Security sees and lets it happen. Surely we are breaking some vital security guideline. She is trying to give me money for my cab. This motion, hand over the divider, leaning forward, taking care of me despite the security issues and onlooking would-be passengers, this gesture, dear readers, is so endearing that your author loses-his-shit, I think the term is, and, crying through what must have been my proudest and most radiant and simultaneously heart-broken smile, I tuck her perfect fingers back around the money, place another kiss and, because I must, slide back to my bag to avoid the handcuff-greeting that surely would have occurred had I let my backpack slink one more foot down the security conveyor belt alone. Next thing I know I am through the gate, no handcuffs, no "freedom search". I am past the point of no return. I am on my way to New York city.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Hello dear reader.
So, here I am. I have arrived. The first two weeks have been (insert any and all possible adjectives here) and, that said, I look forward to the next two weeks, etc... It really has been fantastic / lonely / amazing / scary / wonderful (repeat). I have taken notes on my trip for the past two weeks and will publish some of the days events in the mornings, noons & nights to come. I will not necessarily publish them in order, but that doesn't really matter, does it. Thank you for being here. More soon.
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