The epic “now that the kids are gone
journey” begins and ends in Albuquerque. When we arrive just about
the first thing I notice at the airport is a big display of Breaking
Bad merchandise. We return to Albuquerque and Rachel, my old
friend from Johnston College, takes on a
Breaking Bad tour. Our first stop is the car wash. In
front there is a big official tour conducted in huge trailer, similar
to the one Walt and Jessie cooked meth in. A large group of tourists
take photos. Blue smoke gushes out of a vent on the top of the
trailer. There are “no trespassing” signs in front of Walt's
ugly cul de sac home. There is no parking anywhere and a small crowd
takes pictures. We also see the cafe where Walt met with Lydia, the
site of Pollo Hermanos and Hank's house. The RV tour is rated on
Trip Adviser as one of Albuquerque's most popular attractions, second
only to the Balloon Festival. When we return to the airport, Himself
is disappointed to learn that the shop is out of Breaking Bad
magnets. The clerk tells them that it's impossible to keep
souvenirs of the program in stock.
I marvel at what a grip Breaking Bad
has in establishing the city's identity. Himself says he's not
surprised although he is nearly militantly nonplussed by anything I
find uncanny. When I ask him however, he is unable to name another
TV show that has etched itself upon the city where it filmed so
indelibly. The fact that Breaking Bad is a cable show and is
probably one of the blackest comedies in the history of television,
increases my wonder at the phenomena.
After nearly four weeks of motels, it
is good to be home and while I am, per usual, struck by the quietude
sans kids, it is nice to be able to navigate fearlessly to the
bathroom in the middle of the night. Opie whines shrilly with
delight for hours after we return. Gary, the cat, bites both of us,
although he has no history of being a biter. After an hour though,
we are forgiven and Gary pesters us, purring loudly and kneading in
the bed for most of the night.
We've drive nearly 5000 miles and visit
16 states, only two of which I'd been to previously. As we drive we
listen, via Audible, to the entire Dos Passos U.S.A. Trilogy
and then, after visiting his home town of Sauk Center Minnesota,
Babbitt and Main Street by Sinclair Lewis. It is
remarkable how all of these quintessentially American novels hold up
and add poignancy to our journey through Grand Rapids, Chicago,
Minneapolis and seemingly infinite small towns where often we are
regarded as a novelty. I am surprised at the ubiquity of water
towers. It seems most towns have them as well as an “Historic Main
Street.” With few exceptions though, on the periphery of these
little bergs are endless strip malls of Walmart, Home Depot and
myriad chain stores and restaurants. Hence, vacant storefronts come
part and parcel with “Historic Main Street.”
In my mind's eye, the small towns and
Econo Lodges run together. Breakfasts buffets with waffle
machines,shitty coffee, Fruit Loops, fake maple syrup and margarine.
Except for the big cities, we are usually the only visitors at local
attractions. We stop for gas in Faith South Dakota. There is no
credit card slot on the gas pump. I walk into the station. Four men
are playing cards at a table in the back. There is a list of names
accompanied by the DVD titles that are late being returned. Grumpy
Old Men is nearly three weeks overdue. I foist my credit card at
the clerk and tell her we're going to fill up. She looks at me
quizzically and tells me to come back with the card after we're
finished pumping the gas.
A lot of America is crammed down our
throats these past four weeks. Each little town is in so many ways
like every other little town. Chicago bleeds into Minneapolis.
Woebegone museums of emptied attics and the giant institutes crammed
with dirty money art. The Waffle House. Cowboy hats. Highway Burma
Shave signs have morphed into anti-abortion campaigns featuring cuddly
infants. Homogeneous Silver Lake and hipster Park Slope are a
million years away from so much of what's in the middle. I am
conflicted after having dipped my toe in. I struggle not to judge
people by their beliefs and institutions and whether they shop at
Walmart instead of Costco.
During the last week of travel Joe
College and I text back and forth tensely and continuously.
Girl-friend-in-law is returning from four months in Prague the last
week of December and he has it in his head that they will spend a few
days sequestered in a mountain cabin, preferably well decorated and
with snow on the ground. This escalates for me emotionally because
the boy is single-minded and stubborn. The popular New Year's period
is chosen. Prices are up and most owners won't rent to a person under
25 years old. He visualizes the cabin he wants and is unwilling to
compromise, despite the infinite number of more practical
alternatives that I pose. Dozens of e-mails and text messages are
exchanged. It is crazy making not because the boy wants a romantic
getaway with Girl-friend-in-law but because his inflexibility and
doggedness so parallel my own.
I
feel bad that the plans for their reunion have resulted in so much
sturm and drang. Wanting him to avoid the self-sabotage that has
plagued me for as long as I remember, I write him, “I
really want this for you but because I see so much of myself in you,
seriously, take it down a notch (As I also have to remind myself.)
You're going to want what you want but you will wake up one day
I'm afraid and realize that sometimes treating your “wants” as
“needs” is short sighted and self destructive. I've
resumed a few relationships (YES BECAUSE OF FACEBOOK!) with people
from my college days so suddenly the place you're in is particularly
resonant to me. I remember feeling that my 20s would last forever.
It is shocking to find myself this old. Nevertheless, while
striving for a place of moderation, you absolutely should wring as
much pleasure as you can, now in this final year of college and the
beginning of the next part of your life. This brings you
another step closer to where I am now. Getting to where I am
now comes very fucking quick. One day you will remember that I
told you this. It will be shocking. Anyway, I hope at least at my age
you will know, like I know, that if nothing else, your life has been
worthwhile because you had a kid. Or two.
1 comment:
Delightful and sweet, full of wisdom and your delicious wry observations...love reading you, Layne!
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