Touring the Capitol

Tuesday was the only day we had where there was a SPECIFIC scheduled event:  a tour of the Capitol itself.  In order to arrange that, I had to reach out to one of my local Senators.  Considering I am not a big fan of EITHER Oklahoma Senator, I decided to go for the one that wasn't actively trying to debunk climate change and emailed Dr. Coburn's office back in January to arrange our visit.

We walked through the Russell Senate Office Building towards the office of the junior senator and I felt like I was back in elementary school.  All the doors looks so huge and the hallways stretched forever.  The only sounds I could hear were the heels of my boots on the floor and Mom's wheelchair wheels rolling along in front of them.  We got to Coburn's office and were greeted by an aid and told they'd be ready to show us around in a few minutes.  Mom giddily signed the official ledger as a visitor and I looked at the complicated debt clock on the wall.  Mom pointed out there was an old Operation game under the coffee table, as well, before it was time to head to the Capitol.

We'd gone through some pretty hefty security getting into the office building, which was across the street from the Capitol itself, and I expected to have to go through all of that over again.  However, our guide took us down a level and we crossed to the Capitol via an underground tunnel that also included a tram!  One of them zoomed past as we walked to the main building and I thought how strange it would be to see one of those cars filled up with familiar political faces, or opposing Senators having to sit next to one another.

Once we got to the Capitol itself, we had some bad news:  due to some pretty hefty tour groups that had just registered, the wait would be almost an hour to get in.  Our guide, however, was wily; she was able to get us our tour stickers and we began our tour as intended.  We started by going to the old Supreme Court chamber (which I didn't know once was in the Capitol itself) and saw some original columns that still had bullet holes in them from the War of 1812.  We went down into the crypts (originally designed as a burial chamber for Washington) and then made our way to the rotunda.

I've been under some major domes in my travels, none as magnificent as the dome at St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.  The Capitol doesn't beat it, either, but it's still a beautiful and awe-inspiring sight.  It's an odd marriage of American history and European styling, complete with a godlike fresco of Washington in the middle.  The main room is surrounded by statues, sculptures, and paintings depicting the establishment of the country and our journey to America as we know it today.

After that, we went to the old Senate chamber (another place I was unaware existed) and then the old House chamber, which is now a statuary.  There are two statues in the Capitol for every state, and Oklahoma has a Sequoyah statue and a Will Rogers statue.  When approached to have his statue placed in Washington, Will Rogers supposedly requested it face the House chamber so he could 'keep an eye on Congress'.  People touch his boot for luck, too, just like in Claremore.

That marked the end of our tour.  Afterwards, we went by Ford's Theatre and went to the International Spy Museum where we saw all kinds of amazing spy gadgets from the Cold War and beyond.  It was a good day in Washington.

The Nation's Capital

We arrived in D.C. mid-day Sunday and after a brief snafu with the shuttle from the airport (they sent the car to Dulles, not Baltimore!) arrived at the hotel immediately impressed with the location.  Half a mile from the Capitol Building itself and within walking distance to just about everything on the National Mall.  The day's travels had worn Mom out, so she rested while I took a quick walk around the area to get my bearings and prepare for Monday's start to our historic journey.

A few weeks ago, Mom asked me to see what wheelchair availability would be while we were here.  I hadn't realized her hip problems had progressed to that point and that was a hard thing to accept...but it was very brave of her to put it out there so easily.  I happily reserved a push wheelchair for the week and it arrived on Monday just before 10, so that's when we headed out.  Our first stop was the Capitol Building, a truly awesome work of art and a strong symbol of America across the globe.  Although it was cold and a little windy, we were warmed by the sun and our sense of unfocused patriotism.  Boy, that sounds cheesy...but still true.

The next Big Ticket Items(tm) of the day were two wings of the Smithsonian:  the American Indian wing (Mom specifically requested this one - and it had a lot of amazing artifacts and enough information to fill the entire week) and the Air & Space wing.  I, of course, was like a kid in a candy shop around so many airplanes and lunar vehicles.  Seeing such iconic craft like the Spirit of St. Louis & one of the Apollo capsules was a fascinating trip into the history of mechanical ingenuity.  It's amazing to see what the Skylab looks like and how big Saturn rockets actually are in person.

We still had a lot of day left, so I decided it would be a good idea to walk more of the National Mall and see how much we could accomplish.  Sprinkles came and went as we walked through the park, past the original Smithsonian building and other beautiful government structures, until we arrived at the Washington Monument.  It was still closed from earthquake damage a while back and we couldn't go up, but that didn't take away from the simple magnificence of the structure.  Since we'd gone that far, I decided we could try for the Lincoln Memorial, too.  After going through the new World War II Memorial, we walked by the reflecting pool and arrived.

The trip had already been filled with that electrifying feeling you get when seeing something in person you've seen so many times in books and on television, but I don't think anything hit me quite like the Lincoln Memorial.  Seeing the giant statue of the 16th President of the United States with my own eyes, being able to turn and see the Washington Monument and the Capitol Dome in the distance inspired a moment of silent reflection that made me feel proud; even with all of the things that have happened in this country that I'm not proud of, there are so many other things I am proud of.  And we can all aspire to be someone better.

We visited the Vietnam Memorial and made our way to the White House, which had a lot of Easter festivities going on, and slowly made our way back to our hotel.  We stopped for dinner in Chinatown and enjoyed the vast cultural diversity this city has to offer.  All said and done, I walked seven miles not including the time in the Smithsonian Museums, all while pushing Mom around the sights.  I was a tired puppy...but extremely excited for our next day, which would include a tour of the Capitol itself.

Flying to the District

It's been a while since I've flown somewhere exclusively for vacation.  It's been even long since I've gone on vacation WITH someone.  Mom sits beside me, reading her book and enjoying her in-flight beverage.  We are en route to Washington, D.C. and a week full of activities.  It's the first time for both of us.

The last time I flew anywhere on an airplane with my mother, I was fourteen and the family took a vacation to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida.  My father had made a bet with his boss that he would make a certain amount of money their first year diverting grocery products and won.  We stayed at the brand-new Swan Hotel on the Disney grounds and had an amazing time.  The memories of that vacation are etched in my mind like a travel brochure of what vacation should be like.  Now I get the opportunity to treat my Mom to what I imagine is her equivalent, what with her love of history and learning.  I feel really good about that.

Any time I travel my mind goes to dozens of places I've been to around the globe and snippets of memory blend in with my surroundings.  My early morning daze at Tulsa International Airport was not unlike waiting in the wee hours for my flight from Prague to London.  The beautiful clouds over Dallas reminded me of the clouds as I flew over Japan.  And the feeling from takeoff never changes; Mom compared it to the rush she gets on the back of a motorcycle (which made me stop and marvel at the thought of my mother on a motorcycle.)

As our flight begins descending, I am filled with the excitement of sharing this great experience with the woman who knows me best in this world.  Paying it back the best I can.

Restless

Tomorrow I fly to the District of Colombia with my wonderful mother to take in the sights and history of the nation's capital and more.  We are both tremendously excited; it's hard to believe it's here.  I've been planning for some time.  However, it's on the eve of this event that I'm filled with a strange restlessness I can't quite pin down.

The day started out just fine.  I got up earlier than normal (for a Saturday) and met my old friend Richard at my favorite breakfast diner in town.  I backed his newest novel via Kickstarter and it had finally come in.  We met, talked, and he delivered his book to me.  It was a good way to kick off the weekend.  I got home, started some laundry, and did a little tidying.  At some point, I decided that I was going to spend my day catching up on The Walking Dead, which I hadn't been watching since the series kicked back into gear in February.  The friend I've been watching it with has not been available.  Since I was going to find myself in the position to watch the finale tomorrow live for a change, I'd get ready for it.  So I watched all five episodes I'd missed all in a row, with a short break to go to the store.

I didn't feel anxious when I went to the store.  I decided to get some hot dog buns so I could grill what I had left in the fridge; being gone for the next week meant I'd been eating my rations down to lower-than-normal levels.  It was an easy, quick trip and the weather was perfect for riding.  Got home, grilled, and kicked into the last episode.  It started some time during that, I think; once it had wrapped, I lay on the couch and started wondering what I'd forgotten.  I had a sudden dread that I'd forgotten to do something.  I chalked it up to pre-travel jitters (which happens to even us most seasoned folk) and decided to finish my chores.  I walked out back to put the grill back in it's place when I looked up and noticed the beautiful, fading sky.  The sun was setting and the building clouds were about to light up.  I went back inside, grabbed my keys, and darted for the car.

I got in and took off downtown, eager to get a few good photos of the skyline in the sunset.  However, as soon as I pulled out of the driveway I was talking myself out of it.  "You're too late" I told myself.  I'd missed a literally golden opportunity by sitting inside all day.  I sighed as I turned around and headed back to the house.  I looked up to the sky once more and, just as I was pulling into my driveway, figured it was worth a shot.  I pulled BACK out and drove downtown -- only to find I was, indeed, too late.  By the time I was among the art deco, the clouds had faded to a deep blue and the sunlight was on the horizon.

I was so angry.  Not really at myself, though that was part of it.  Just a general irritation.  I was cussing the endless stoplights and felt my blood pressure escalate.  I drove home, muttering at what I felt was my own stupidity, and pulled back onto my street.  I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a lovely juxtaposition of the light behind me and the dark clouds ahead; I snapped a picture and was satisfied.  I pulled into the house and sat for a moment.  What in the world was wrong with me?  I had nothing to be upset about.  Everything was okay.  Even my concern from earlier was needless; I was already all packed and double-checked.  If' I'd missed something, surely it was minuscule.



When I came back inside to finish putting everything away, I looked at the table and saw a book I had finished reading a short while back, and my anxiety returned.  The book, called 'A Spot of Bother' is about an older man who thinks he is dying and is slowly losing his mind.  It's written as a dark comedy and I'd wanted to read it as I enjoyed the author's other book.  But when I'd finished this one, I was almost disturbed by it.  I dismissed it as a book I just didn't enjoy, but now I see it as something a little more.  There's a passage where the main character tries to cut off a piece of himself that contains the skin condition that originally convinced him he was cancerous and dying.  The mere thought made my stomach lurch, regardless of the frivolous way it was written.  I can't get the scene out of my head.  On top of that, here's a man who was sick, didn't want to be taken care of, and preferred not to tell anyone how he was really feeling; this man was my father.  Was Dad slowly losing his mind, alone in his apartment, watching old home movies time and time again?

I really miss him.  Maybe that's the basis of all this.  I'm about to take Mom on a wonderful vacation, to a place she's always wanted to go.  Would I still be doing this if I hadn't been awoken to the fact that I could no longer do anything for my father?  I hate feeling like all roads lead back to him.  It's not fair.  Anyway, this is rambly enough as it is.  I'm very excited to board the plane with Mom in the morning and be there when she sees the dome of the Capitol for the first time.  I have so much to share with her.

I'm sure I'll check my bags at least four more times, too.

Freedom

When I inherited my father's meager record collection, I rediscovered a few favorites that I used to listen to when I was younger.  He had the soundtrack to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.  He had the Creedence Clearwater Revival album that had 'Fortunate Sun' on it.  I remember him giddily showing me a Steppenwolf song called, 'Earschplittenloudenboomer' and my lack of appreciation.  In fact, there were several albums I just didn't get and never really listened to.  Blood, Sweat, and Tears' self-titled album.  Ten Years Later.  Led Zeppelin III.  Classics that I didn't appreciate until much, much later.  And some I've yet to crack...but time has a way of wearing away the soil that obscures my understanding.

I saw Django Unchained this week and REALLY enjoyed it.  Among the great cast, the gorgeous cinematography, and the witty dialogue it had a fabulous soundtrack.  There were a lot of songs I'd never heard, yet they found a home instantly in my heart.  I got home and immediately bought the soundtrack.  I listened to it several times on Christmas, and several times yesterday.  Today, I realized there was a song in the movie that wasn't on the soundtrack.  That's not unusual; albums only hold so much music and rights cost money.  I was determined to find this song, though I only knew one word:  Freedom.

After some research, I discovered the song.  It was a 1969 tune by a guitar player by the name of Richie Havens, conveniently titled 'Freedom'.  The guitar soothed me and the voice haunted me.  I had to hear it again.  But every version I found on Youtube was a recent recording, and the few older recordings I found were live.  After more research, I found out why.  The version that is most well-known comes from the album cobbled together from the live recordings at Woodstock.  I discovered this, and had a moment.  Time stopped for just a second.  I paused, stood up, and walked to the living room.  I bent down to the box that holds my vinyl, both new and old, and extracted a tattered three-cover album simply titled 'Woodstock'.

I never played this when I was younger.  'Live' recordings weren't my thing for the most part of my life.  The only time this record spun on the turntable is when I wanted to let one of my friends hear 'The Fish Chant' by Country Joe and the Fish.  Otherwise, my ears were virgin to the entire Woodstock experience.  Sure enough, there it was on side one of disc one:  Freedom.

Even though the hour was late, I took out the groovy disc, put it on my player, and listened to a song that I had just fallen in love with in all its crackly glory.  A song that had existed well before I did.  And one that sat, waiting, in my living room for the past two years.

It was as if my father had grabbed my shoulder and said, 'Son, sit down a minute.  I have a song I really want you to listen to.'  It just took me a while to hear it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQ0I0SRW9_U

Merry Christmas

It's been the best Christmas I've had in quite a long time.

I am largely a social creature; I am happiest when among others.  My giving season started on Friday the 14th.  I love to host, and I invited my closest friends over for a fancy-dressed party to celebrate the holidays.  We laughed, drank, exchanged gifts...and had a fantastic time.  The gifts I gave were well received, and my friends were generous.  We sat around and played the Wii U as well.  I looked around at one point, saw my friends enjoying themselves, and was filled with a gladness of heart that would've sustained me for the entire Christmas season.  But a week later, I had another gathering.  I met my weekly board game crew for another gift exchange and a game of 7 Wonders.  Once again, it was a group of friends sitting around and enjoying each other's company in the spirit of giving.  In the last two weeks, I not only had these two gatherings but hung out pretty regularly with other friends, too.  

This brings me to this past extended weekend.  I made a quick decision to head up to Pawhuska early and get some extra visiting time with my family.  I took my camera, too, and took my time driving up Highway 11 to reach the city of my father's family.  The next two-and-a-half days were full of the kind of family time that had only existed in distant memory.  We hadn't all been together as such since Grandma passed in late 2010.  Since that terrible winter of death and divorce, I've felt somewhat estranged from my family.  And my friends, really.  As happy and busy as I've been, I have not been able to shake this feeling that I don't fit anywhere.  Do not misunderstand me; this is not the fault of anyone but myself.  I've just felt out of step with everyone in my life, and it has cost me relationships and left me with many sleepless nights.

After a wonderful few days with the Martin clan, I came home and spent today with my family here.  Mom 'n the Gang.  Once again, it was an environment I hadn't felt I'd fit into for a very long time.  But today felt good.  We were laughing, enjoying each other's company, and there was no rush.  I felt normal, for the first time in a long time.  I wasn't trying to think of an exit strategy so I could get back home and sulk in the dark.  Everything was fine.

At the end of this busy season, I sit at home listening to music by myself and I feel FULL.  I can close my eyes, smile, and the smile is deep.  I know I still have a long way to go; the high that comes with these gatherings will wear off sooner than I expect.  But this Christmas was a big win.  I have my friends and family to thank for that.  You are all wonderful people and I am so very thankful for you.

A New Store

Steven Chbosky wrote, “I am both happy and sad at the same time, and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.”  There are words in the English language we use to define such an emotional place.  Ambivalence.  Bittersweet.  They hardly do justice to the actual emotion; I think those moments are some of the most important we can experience on our journey through this world.

I found myself in Bixby this evening, after having a nice visit with my friends Billy and Joy.  Next to their apartment complex stood a brand-new Reasor's grocery store.  I left the Carr's apartment tired and ready to go home, but the allure of a sparkling, pristine supermarket was too much for me.  I pulled in and looked up at the fresh neon.  The glow against the night sky, positioned above the flourescent light pouring from the glass storefront, called to me as a porch light calls to a moth.  I feel the same way about a new grocery store that a lot of folks feel about new cars.  As it was, it was late and I pretty much had the store to myself.

I walked inside and was hit with something unexpected; the smell.  Growing up, I visited grand openings of grocery stores with my father many times.  There's a smell that can't be narrowed to any one thing...it's a mixture of the new product, the new fixtures, the paint, everything.  It triggered a flood of non-specific memory from childhood.  I smiled as I wandered through the produce section and took in the layout.  I will never know even half of what my Dad did about the why's behind grocery store layouts.  I know there is purpose behind everything, and some of it is rather logical.  But just because I don't fully understand something doesn't mean it I don't appreciate it.  

Walking up and down the aisles of the store, I could hear my father's voice speaking softly into a micro-cassette recorder.  He used to walk the competition and speak products and prices; afterwards, he would go home, replay his tape, and compare it to the giant green-and-white spreadsheet that represented his prices.  The shelves were full of perfectly faced product.  The freezer cases were untarnished and clear.  The lights were bright and even.  It was a gorgeous store, and I smiled genuinely as I explored.  That elation mixed with the melancholy tendrils of loss, my memories of Dad all those years ago muddying with the more recent memory of an etched stone on a hill in Pawhuska.

There's something beautiful that happens when such strong emotions come into contact.  It breathes life into those old memories, bringing appreciation for those old times to a point where, for a moment, reality takes a back seat.  I wandered those aisles not in grief, but in service.  I could've been checking the place out as a favor for him.  Maybe it was his store, and he was in the back somewhere helping the stock boys.  In any case, Dad felt alive within me.  The same thing happens when I watch an old film he loved or I experience something new I just know he would have.

Although it's not that strong on regular trips, grocery shopping always brings him back for me.  I think of the things he'd say, the teachings I've almost forgotten about the business, and the times I spent in stores with him.  I think of the way he treated people, with respect, and how much he really loved it.  I wouldn't be surprised if I found myself in one again someday, perhaps with a head of silver hair, smiling and helping strangers with a task many people consider rote and a chore.  My smile would be genuine, because I would not only be myself, but I would be my father and his father before him.  There's something so deeply comforting about that.