Following the Lincoln Highway

        It was a wonderful scavenger hunt, as I traveled back and forth across the West from my home in California to Colorado, by way of the remnants of the Historic Lincoln Highway. Off the Interstates as much as possible, I searched small towns for Lincoln Highway signs and markers and landmarks.

        The Lincoln Highway, America's Main Street Across America, is 100 years old in 2013. A century ago, the highway stretched from New York City to San Francisco. It wasn't a straight line on the map, like today's superhighways or interstates. Instead, it was a line that connected the dots that were the cities, small towns, forts, and even ranches across even the emptiest spaces in the West and Midwest.

        Towns prospered during the highway's heyday. Motels and motor courts, gas stations and repair garages popped up along the gravel, then asphalt, highway. Thousands of American families took on the challenge of the road, answered the call of the wild, and created the unique American vacation, the road-trip. Over time, the highway was straightened and straightened again, and finally replaced by the numbered interstate highway system, which left all those little towns and their gas stations and motels behind.
 
        Celebrating the highway's 100th birthday, the Lincoln Highway Association has organized a pair of caravans, one departing from San Francisco and the other from New York City on June 23, 2013, that will follow the course of the old highway whenever possible before meeting in the middle at Nebraska. Inspired, I am taking my own road-trip from my home in Colfax, California, to Cheyenne, Wyoming, and back. (An article appeared in the Auburn Journal describing the passing of the caravan through town.)

I left California on Sunday, June 16, and arrived in Cheyenne four days later on Wednesday the 19th. After a side trip to Longmont, Colorado, for Meghann Adams and Josh Vela's wedding (the original inspiration for planning the road trip), I made the return journey, leaving from Cheyenne on Sunday, June 23, arriving home on Thursday, June 27.

        Using a variety of sources, including the Lincoln Highway Association website, wikipedia, and James Lin's Lincoln Highway site, as well as two tourist flyers I picked up along the way in Utah and Wyoming, I chose a "blue highways" route that left Interstates 80, 50, and 93 whenever the Lincoln Highway
route was available to follow instead.

        In the olden days, the length of America's Main Street was marked in a variety of ways. The Boy Scouts placed 3000 concrete posts with the highway's red-white-and-blue logo, it's large L, directional arrows, and brass medals that sported Lincoln's profile. Towns posted signs in the same colors and a large L on fence posts and lampposts. Farmers' fence posts were painted with red-white-and-blue horizontal stripes.
Today, only a very few of these markers remain in place. Some streets in some towns still hold the name Lincoln Way. Some businesses still carry the Lincoln name, too. But in large part, it's hard to follow and requires some trial and error meandering.

        The goal of my trip was to follow the trail of the Lincoln Highway as much as possible. To that end, I found myself wandering back and forth and up and down through towns and in the shadows of the Union Pacific railroad tracks and Interstate 80. I experienced frustration when I couldn't find a marker or a landmark listed in one of my sources, and I experienced joy and jubilation when I was surprised by signs and markers where I hadn't expected them. Along the way, I took a gazillion photos of what I saw: signs and markers, gas stations and motor courts, monuments and statues, and even stretches of the road itself. A few of those photos are shared here; others can be seen at my flickr page.
       
      

Holiday Greetings 2012

Dearest Friends and Family,

A book-on-CD is reading me a story while I putter in the kitchen. I am surrounded by an autumn plenty of newly harvested, fresh-from-the-earth goodies. Apples, once red, green, and yellow, now lay peeled and chopped in heaps and mounds on the cutting board, waiting to be transformed into applesauce in the slow-cooker. In the oven, butternut squash halves roast one rack below sizzling pans of cubed and sliced eggplant, carrots, beets, onions, and peppers, all destined for soup pots already bubbling with kale, chard, and other greens whose names I have forgotten. 

A highlight of my summer and fall has been my weekly CSA box of produce from a small local farm, Bakbraken Acres. Each large box, filled to overflowing with a seasonal treasure trove of colorful edibles, some familiar to my kitchen, some new or strange to me. I have delighted in the just-picked, fresh flavors, as well as the numerous opportunities to expand my cooking and eating repertoire. I learned to cook and eat beets, turnips, butternut squash, eggplant, persimmons, kale, and chard. I also thoroughly enjoyed summertime favorites like tomatoes and watermelon. Though this past Monday marked the last box of the year, and I’m feeling a bit sad, my freezer is stuffed with homemade pesto, applesauce, and a winter’s worth of savory, hearty soups! 

The year 2012 is chasing its predecessors at a rate so fast as to actually catch them; no year has sped faster than this one! It has been a full year, too; events seem to have stacked up on top of one another in my memory. I hope my annual holiday letter finds you healthy, happy, and surrounded by loved ones. I also hope that you will find time during this holiday season to find peace and inspiration in the annual traditions and rituals of your celebrations.

(Wally @ Big Game - We Miss You!)

This year has been marked by a number of transitions. We have celebrated milestones that mark accomplishments and new beginnings, and others that visit us with pangs of sweet nostalgia. Mom and I took two trips to Southern California. We drove to the San Fernando Valley in the spring to celebrate the long life of my Aunt Darlene, who passed away less than a year after my father. We communed with three generations of Griffins and took a driving tour of “old San Fernando,” prompting the telling of wonderful stories set in “the Valley” and in “the War” in the 20s, 30s, and 40s. A few months later, Mom and I returned for a reunion of former students and families of Christian Day School, the tiny K-6 elementary school I attended in San Fernando so long ago. So many people attended, people I hadn’t seen in 20 years, and we told our own generation’s stories about life in that sweet small town in the 50s and 60s.

(Class of 1966!)

In March, I moved from Lake of the Pines, where I had lived since we migrated north 23 years ago, to the small town of Colfax. I am now five minutes from work in a cute and roomy condo/apartment under the pines. I keep wondering why I didn’t do this a long time ago. The move itself was an arduous event, but well worth the effort. 

I continue to teach English/language arts to seventh and eighth graders at Colfax Elementary. I can hardly believe that I have been a teacher for 23 years! The children still inspire me and make me laugh, and despite the dire state of the educational environment at large, I continue to love what I do and cannot imagine anything more personally rewarding or valuable. (Thank you to everyone who voted yes on Prop 30.)

(Thanks, Tom, for the photo of us at Dean's Graduation!)

Dean has had a big year. In June, “Dr. Dean” graduated from Stanford with his PhD in Communication and an MS in Statistics. Dean has been at the university for nine of the last ten years, working, studying, researching, and teaching, so this event marks a major milestone for him. The last year was really intense, and ultimately extremely rewarding. Mom and I, along with Dean’s dad, Tom, and Dean’s bestfriend-since-second-grade, Chris, enjoyed watching as Dean presented his dissertation in May. How proud we all were! Tom and I returned for the graduation ceremony in June. Dean immediately began work as a scientist with Facebook at their new campus in Menlo Park, where he studies the impacts of social networking and peer influence.

(Thanks, Chris, for the photo of Dean in Nepal.)

Dean recently returned from a most excellent adventure abroad. Along with four friends (Chris, Amy, Wenzhe, and Russ), he traveled to Cambodia and Nepal. The short trip to Cambodia included a visit to see the many temples near Siem Reap. More time was spent in Nepal, where they went trekking through the Himalayas for over a week, before returning to Katmandu, where they enjoyed participating in a national festival celebration. The photos are stunning, but do little justice to the breathtaking scenery and the exciting experiences.

Dean also moved recently. Since May, he has been living in a large and beautifully refurbished old Victorian in the Hayes Valley neighborhood of San Francisco, which he shares with three roommates. Since graduation, with his workload and stress levels radically reduced, he is enjoying having time to socialize and take part in the myriad of cultural events the Bay Area has to offer.

(Thanks, Dean, for the photo of your Grandma Louise!)

At this time last year, my mom, Louise, was quite ill with her second bout of Endocarditis, an infection in the heart. She ended up staying in the recovery wing at the local hospital for a couple of months, finally coming home two days before Christmas. Since then, she has been on the mend, a slow and sometimes frustrating path towards renewed health. My sister, Diane, lives with and cares for Mom in her home in Eskaton Retirement Village in Grass Valley. Mom recently “graduated” to a new-fangled walker, complete with handbrakes and a cushioned seat, which, by allowing her to be both safe and mobile, also encourages her to get out and about more. Mom and I dine at the Eskaton lodge dining room one evening a week and try for an “outing” most weekends.

The events of this challenging year have heightened my appreciation for the loving people who populate my world, and I am blessed to number you among those beloved souls. By being a part of my life, you enrich it, and I am deeply grateful. I am looking forward to a healthy and peaceful 2013 and wishing you the same.

May all beings be happy and free from suffering.

May all beings be healthy.

May all beings love and feel loved.

May all beings enjoy beauty and be at peace.

Namaste’ and XOXO

Joan

Happily Ever After with Coursera

On July 23, along with thousands of other students from all around the world, I began the online Coursera class "Fantasy and Science Fiction". Reading the first posts by participants during the first three Introductory days was like being magically transported into a fantasy world, a "flat world", where everyone can talk with everyone else. The age range I witnessed was from 11 to 81. Name a country, there was a participant from there in the threaded introductions. It is inspiring to be a part of this incredible movement, begun only a few months ago by Andrew Ng and Daphne Koller of Stanford, to bring free high quality education to everyone, literally, everyone.

On July 28, together with hundreds of Coursera participants from around Northern California, I attended a Meetup at Flood Park in Menlo Park, where we were treated to a lunch of burgers and great conversation with other students AND Ng and Koller and other professors. Again, it felt magical to be a part of this inspiring movement. I met two other women taking the same class I'm enrolled in and many other friendly and eager scholars who are enrolled in a variety of other courses.

If you are even the slightest bit intrigued and/or if you love learning, check out the Coursera website.

"Fantasy and Science Fiction" is a ten-week course that begins with Grimms' Fairytales (Lucy Crane Translation) and works its way through familiar stories like Adventures in Wonderland, Frankenstein, Dracula, The Invisible Man, and The Martian Chronicles, along with a number of less common titles I look forward to discovering. Each week focuses on a different book or group of stories and culminates with a brief (read VERY pithy) essay. The assignment for the essay (and I LOVE this) is to "enhance the reading of a hypothetical intelligent and attentive fellow student."

My essay for the Grimm's Fairytale week focused on the irony found in "The Three Spinsters" which actually turned the common fairytale pattern on its head, by giving the "happily ever after" reward to a laggard. In the class, all essays are shared with peers anonymously, but for this venue, I offer my essay below.
 

Irony Reverses the Pattern

Many fairytales are cautionary stories that deliver fatal endings to characters who act out their greed, gluttony, envy, or disloyalty. Other stories hand happily-ever-after treasure or royal weddings to those who demonstrate loyalty, selflessness, or generosity.

“The Three Spinsters,” an entertaining and humorous story, appears to make fun of the fairytale pattern itself, when irony is used to unexpectedly award a happily-ever-after ending to a lazy maiden,

We know the maiden is lazy from the first scene, when her mother beats her for shirking her spinning duties. The irony begins with the serendipitous arrival of the queen, a great admirer of the virtue of industry. To avoid embarrassment, the mother tells the queen the exact opposite of the truth, that she is beating her daughter because the maiden constantly works too arduously.

The hand of the prince is offered, unbeknownst to the prince himself, to the maiden, not for her beauty, as is the fairytale custom, but for her industry. The maid, of course, must pass a three-fold test requiring her to spin into thread the mountains of flax filling three rooms in the castle. Also, of course, she is magically rescued by three very ugly, but very accomplished, spinsters.

At the wedding feast, the prince bridegroom, upon meeting the spinsters and espying their ugliness, asks and is informed that the features of their ugliness are both the power behind and the result of, their spinning prowess: large foot (for peddling), large lip (for moistening), and large thumb (for spinning).

Instantly, to preserve the beauty of his bride, known for her love of spinning, the prince proclaims she shall be forever forbidden from spinning. Ironically, the lazy maid is rewarded with a handsome prince AND a spinning-free life of leisure. This ironic twist causes the reader to laugh at the expense of the fairytale pattern itself.

Dividing Lines...

    
     Three strands of barbed wire, once stretched tightly between wooden posts, now droop in lazy curves. Some of the sturdy posts were replaced long ago with bent branches, deadfall from sturdy oaks. Crooked posts, crooked wires, crooked fences marking crooked lines.

     There are old fences in all states of repair and disrepair along the country road I take to work and back each day. Some follow the road's curves and straightaways, others take off from the asphalt and disappear over hills and into meadows.
     A few of the enclosed fields are inhabited by horses or cattle; others sport driveways and dwellings. Their fences efficiently separate the wild from the domesticated.

     But it's hard to tell what some of the barriers are meant to divide; the lush and scraggly green grasses look exactly the same on both sides of the man-made line, as do the towering oaks and the spreading manzanita. Seasonal creeks have undercut them here and there, and old trees have thrown discarded branches across them in other places.
     It's as though these markers of civilization's edges. placed in the ground by so much muscle and sweat many years ago, have gone over to the other side. The wood and iron have gone feral. Abandoning, or having been abandoned by their human creators, they fend for themselves amidst the wildlife. Now it is the boundary of wilderness they mark, the territory of the deer, wild turkey, quail, raccoons, foxes, and other inhabitants.

 

Look What I Found...

     While cleaning out my parents' garage in preparation for moving my mom to a smaller place, I discovered an old tool, now a new treasure... my old skate key! I recognized its singular shape immediately, but it was the soiled old string-necklace still laced through it that initially caught my eye, as I dug through Dad's battered metal tool box. Memories rushed at me.
     In the weeks since my discovery, I have carried my skate key amongst the coins in my wallet and shared it with friends and family on a variety of occasions. There is a thick, solid, line-in-time that defines those who recognize the key immediately for what it is and those who have not the slightest idea what they are looking at! People born in the '50s or earlier break spontaneously into wide smiles that include the whole of their faces, and then quickly wax into nostalgic childhood anecdotes about skates, skating, skating accidents, favorite skating shoes, skating events... everything skating. Most of these stories were long forgotten until the spark of seeing my lost-and-found treasure sparked their remembrance.

I got a brand new pair of roller skates.

You got a brand new key.

I think that we should get together and try them out, to see ...

     Younger folks, certainly those born after the '60s, sport a puzzled look upon first seeing my skate key. They invariable take it into their hands, flipping it this way and that. They recognize the "toolness" of the object, but see no special purpose for which its bends and holes might have been designed. When the words "skate key" are lovingly spoken by their elders, their heads cock to the side and their puzzled looks deepen, "a what?" A lengthy explanation then ensues, with special emphasis on special facts, akin to advice given by an experienced mentor to a younger protege recently deemed ready to learn how to properly skate.

• First, those old-fashioned skates require you to don hard-soled shoes with a sole-lip thick enough and firm enough to support the metal clamps of the skates.
• Second, the skates must be properly fitted to your feet before they are clamped to your shoes. To do so, the various bolts must be loosened with the skate key, the foot piece must be adjusted to the proper length and width, and then bolts must be tightened again with the skate key.
• Next, to prevent its disastrous loss, the skate key must, at all times, be worn on a string around your neck and tucked into your shirt all summer long, even when not skating.
• Periodically, you must pause, inspect, and readjust the tightness of the clamps. Failure to do so could easily result in mechanical failure and a painful crash.
• Finally, the skate key must never, ever, ever be misplaced, or you could never skate again without mooching off a friend.

      I remember... playing follow the leader while skating with the neighborhood kids, going 'round and 'round and 'round the block in our own little parade. We skated downhill on Newton Street's sidewalk, turned right at Library Street, skated back uphill on the sidewalk along Brand Blvd, and turned right again on Fifth Street to get back to Newton and start all over again with a new leader. Sometimes, after getting to speed on the downhill run, we would close ranks, grab one anothers' waists, squat down low to the cement, and glide down the street like a giant careening snake. Care had to be taken over the rough spots, as those metal skate wheels could catch in a crack or on a small stone and launch you head over heels! (I have a pale scar on my forehead to this day that proves that warning!)

     I remember... putting on dramatic performances, performance-art storytelling on skates, complete with princesses and fairies and heroes! MaryAnn Macey, Lynn Monteverde, and I practiced for weeks on Ione and Otis Crawford's perfectly shaped and sloped driveway, distributed handwritten fliers to every home in the neighborhood, set up chairs on the sidewalk, and created both scripts and costumes for our summer evening debut. I remember there were grand entrances from alongside Crawford's house, swirling spins and swift strides in the wide space front of the garage, and deep curtsies at the conclusion.

     I'll wager my elders and contemporaries out there have similar childhood skating anecdotes to share! Do tell...

(The photo above is of my mother, Louise Griffin, age seven, resting during a skating session in front of her house in San Diego in 1932. The lyrics above are from the song "Brand New Key" released by singer/songwriter Melanie in 1971.)

Peaceful Resting...

     "You're never prepared."

     How many times have I heard that phrase concerning someone's emotional reactions to the death of a loved one? I thought I understood it, and intellectually I did. But physically and emotionally, I couldn't have understood, because I had never actually experienced it before.

     Then Daddy died this year, on Good Friday, on Mom's birthday, on April 22, 2011. Dad wasn't ready to go. Even at 89, after a long and rich life filled with adventure and love, Dad valiantly battled with shrouded Death, determined to win. During his 80's, Dad fought back from the brink several times, escaping Death's clutches in the form of kidney failure, heart disease, "every chronic affliction known to man." Those successes drove him to continue his fight even as his last day approached and he slipped further and further away from us.
     The "apple of Dad's eye," his only grandchild, Dean, hurried home to visit and say goodbye. When he arrived, Dad propped himself up a little higher on his bed cushions, smiled a little more, and became almost "perky" as we all talked about "the good old days." After an hour-and-a-half, Dad slipped into a peaceful sleep. He never regained consciousness, though he responded to the touch of our hands.

     Mom and I camped out at the side of his bed all day and well into the night. We talked to him, believing he could hear us even though he couldn't respond. We recounted stories and discussed important and frivolous things with him. On Friday morning, shortly after we both returned from a sleep break, Dad found enough strength to squeeze Mom's hand (happy birthday? goodbye? both?) just before he breathed his last breath.

     The lovely cards and calls that we have received from friends old and new universally extol his kindness, his humor, his brilliance... and the twinkle in his eye. We miss him everyday.

     Wallace Miles Griffin's obituary is here.

(The photos above are of 86-year-old Wally on Christmas morning in 2008 at my house; two-year-old Wally in coat and hat on the running board of his father's car in San Fernando; and young married Wally and Louise in the 1950s in San Fernando.)

The Smell of Roses...

     For Christmas, a bit belatedly, I received a Kindle, and for that I am very grateful. I am an avid reader, with a large library; buying books is my strongest vice. If he didn't know better, the postman would think I was having an intimate affair with someone by the name of Amazon; so many boxes he delivers to my door are emblazoned with that name.
     Currently, I have four books actively "in progress", and several others awaiting my attention in precarious piles. For a complete look at my reading lists, past, present, and future, you can become my "friend" on Goodreads.com a really fun social networking site exclusively dedicated to reading and talking about reading.
     So, despite being in the midst of several books, I took my new Kindle in hand, and downloaded my first Kindlebook last night: 365 Thank Yous by John Kralik. Mr. Kralik really took an idea and ran with it, an idea many of us have had, but never followed through with. And I'm pondering following in his footsteps.

     In this crazy-busy world we live in, everyone is running from one thing to the next, barely pausing to (forgive the cliche') "smell the roses." Many an expert has suggested that one way to greater happiness is through practicing mindful appreciation of the world around us: people, nature, beauty, etc. But it's hard to appreciate what you are rushing past, even pushing out of your way. Experts also tell us that by contemplating and writing a list of gratitudes every evening we become better at noticing the people and things in our lives we sincerely appreciate and find meaningful, things big and things small... sort of like priming the pump (another cliche', sorry). If I have an "assignment" to come up with three specific things that I feel grateful for every evening, and I don't want it to get repetitious, then I had better start noticing what's going on around me. I'd better slow down and allow myself to be aware of my surroundings and those with whom I interact. "They" say, eventually, this practice becomes a habit--a way of life that leads to greater happiness.
     Mr. Kralik's idea goes one step further. He challenged himself to not just write a gratitude list for himself, but to write and deliver a written thank you to someone, everyday for a year, expressing that gratitude. His notes weren't long or mushy, just honest and sincere. He began, easily enough, by writing thank yous for Christmas gifts he had received. It wasn't long before he had to look deeper and watch more carefully. It was interesting how touched people were by his simple notes. People's need to be appreciated, was as great as his need to be appreciative. The connections created by his thank yous brought energy to both the giver and the receiver.
     Kralik's personal goal was for greater happiness for himself; he needed to pull himself out of the deep dark hole into which he had fallen. The end result was a "pay it forward" result. By passing on his appreciation, his gratitude, to others he succeeded in passing along his greater happiness as well.

     So, I'm going to give this a try. I am challenging myself to write a thank you note a day for all of 2011. It sounds daunting when I say it, write it, like that... 365 is a big number! So I am also allowing myself forgiveness when I mess up, because it's sure to happen. I want to begin right now.

Dear Readers,     I am deeply grateful to those of you who read my blog, especially to those of you who comment from time to time. Your readership and your comments are encouraging to me. I get excited every time I see on my "stats" that my blog has been viewed! I feel giddy when there's a comment waiting for me. When I grow up, I want to be a writer. I began this blog a year ago as a challenge to myself to "go public" with my writing in order to face my fears; fears that really kept me from actively pursuing that writing dream; fears that you have helped to dispel with your encouragement. So, I sincerely appreciate, you, my dear readers!           
     THANK YOU!      Joan