Tapestry of Life - On the Road #3

Hey y’all,

Every time I'm on the road, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly friendships are bonded and easily untied - especially as the need arises.  There's something about traveling - being suspended from the day to day life of jobs, rent, bills, social obligations, community service, and established groups - that suspends the usual rules of how people interact with each other. Boundaries are lifted, discretion is almost an insult when making friends and forming temporary community from town to town.

I met Ann at the Amped Cafe in Homer, the day after I arrived in town. She's torn between career and more school, and which way to turn. There was an immediate bond that forged itself when she mentioned living in her truck, with a dog, and a Holly Golightly-style best friend that was halibut fishing with a new fling who "wore his mullet well," and thus, was currently unavailable.

What a coincidence! I'm also living in my truck.  

Ann talked me into doing a reading at the open mike that night to get warmed up for the Concert on the Lawn that first weekend. The next morning, she met me at 8:30 to help me set up my booth and was in and out every so often, as the need arose.

Hey, she got into the concert for free. After the weekend, she felt comfortable enough to let me stay in a tent outside the mullet-fisherman's house and I had a place to reorganize my truck and make coffee in the morning.

At the Concert on the Lawn, a volunteer named Lia offered to let me park my truck and sleep in her van with a double bed if I needed a place to stay. She was widowed from the love of her life two years before, and she had done her fair share of adventuring in her youth. She was also letting a young man stay on her property that was on a spiritual path of Buddhism and daily meditation, so it was really no big deal. But she felt the need to assure me that she wasn't coming on to me and that the young man was not her lover. 

When Ann moved on to Seward to look into a possible dream job, I gave Lia a call and after it took her a moment to remember me...

"Oh yes, the Scheherazade..." she said. (I totally dug that compliment) before giving me directions to her house. 

She got a little reluctant about using her van, but I had a place to park, and a kitchen to make my coffee, and an outhouse to do my business, and my body was scrunched again into my truck's proportions.

She told me her story, and it turns we have much in common.

"We are all interconnected," she said. 

If she ever comes to Juneau, of course she'll have a place to stay.

Ann's sweet dog was hit by a car on Saturday night and killed, so she left Seward by the time I got there and the Holly Golightly-style best friend met her in Anchorage. I doubt I'll see her much from here on out, but I have a couple of pieces of mail and her PO box key. I'm sure we'll keep in touch and all, but I suspect that Ann was my Homer friend.

So here I am in Seward to do table to table storytelling at the Resurrect Art Coffee House in Seward. I'm staying at the hostel and it feels like high luxury accommodation to be able to stretch out in sleep and have a place to put food.

This morning I was looking forward to coffee in the communal kitchen and writing in my journal when a born-again Christian wrecked the peace of my morning today when she had to tell me her story of giving her life to the Lord and how happy she was that she didn't have to be good enough to get into heaven, because God sent his Son to die on a cross for her. It's incredible that Christians never stop to think how sadistic and cruel that is... 

I felt my energy being sucked dry...dammit, I knew I should have kept my distance.

When I couldn't take anymore of her being saved speeches, I got up and told her abruptly that I had gotten screwed by the same system that had done so much for her, and would she please stop. She said, yes of course and we made banal chit chat and wished each other a good day.

I'm only one thread on the tapestry of life, and these intersections are only a moment and some are a part of beautiful patterns and others...are not.  

But then my thread runs on, as does theirs.

As Lia said, we are all connected.

Peace,

Montgomery

PS: This is the 3rd email from my DIY booktour roadtrip that started in the summer of 2005. Ann was the first friend I made on the road, and her sweet dog, Wiley, snuggled against me one night when I was feeling lonely and sad, and maybe a touch of anguish. As amazing an adventure as this was, there were some things that were going on in my personal life that weighed heavy on my heart. I realized Wiley could feel my pain and was trying to comfort me. Later, it hurt so badly to hear that that sweet dog had been killed (frankly, from Ann's carelessness), that I couldn't bring myself to include that moment in this email at the time I wrote it. I regret that. So better late than never that Wiley was remembered as the awesome being that she was. I hope that dog reincarnated to a more responsible owner. Wiley also proved the point of how all of us are interconnected.

PPS: I never saw Ann again, and we didn't keep in touch.

Great Expectations and the Death of Common Sense - On the Road #2

This 2nd email from my road trip journal is of the first event I did on a year long booktour roadtrip of telling stories and selling a book out of my rig - the Beast. Looking back, I can't believe my mindset. I really was half cocked and had no idea what I was doing! It is a huge regret of my life that I did not get any pictures from that time. These photos here are much more luxurious than what I had to work with at that time, but they evoke the "vibe" I was going for in setting up my first booth for my first attempt at DIY writer/storyteller glory. Enjoy!

Oh Expectation!

That enemy of common sense, I had a mighty vision of massive book sales dancing in my head as I drove my poor, little, injured Brown Beast to the end of the road - also known as Homer, Alaska. There was a Concert on the Lawn weekend event happening in a town that was known for its artistic hippies. It was my first stop. How could anything go wrong? I pushed my broken Beast to the limit to get there.

The bands were my first clue that my vision and reality were not in alignment. Many of the bands playing were the baby-faced offspring of the artistic hippies. Therefore, most people in the audience were...kids.

But, I get ahead of myself...

I made a new friend at a coffee shop. Something about living in your rig really makes for fast and furious bonding glue when you meet somebody who's doing the same thing. Ann had arrived in Homer four weeks before from Montana. She's one of those who always needs something to do, so Ann was more than happy to play the role of my lovely assistant in setting up the cheap Wal-Mart special that was my canopy, and lining it with silk tapestries and sarongs, and putting blankets and pillows on the ground, as well as scented candles to make our booth smell nice. The idea was to make our space more appealing to the passerby. Our master plan was that people would be lured in by the atmosphere, would want to come in and sit for a spell while I captivate them with stories about my heart-eating anti-heroine. My mythical audience would be so enthralled they would have to buy the book. Of course, they would. To find out what happens next.

It didn’t exactly work out that way.

One thing I didn’t consider was how loud the music would be blaring into my cozy, seductive, storytelling space. Kind of hard to create a mesmerizing-sit-down-and-chill-so-you-will-buy-my-stories vibe when the background music is the off key screeching of 14-year-old punk rockers. They might have even been twelve.

As the day passed, several people asked how much the sarongs were. Even though there were books displayed with price tags. Many commented on how cozy we looked as they passed by. One guy offered me ten dollars to sit under the booth while Laura Love was playing, if it started to rain. He did end up being my last sale of the day.

But that's not the point.

Three teenage girls came up to the booth and said: "Okay, we're gonna do it. How much for all three of us?" Fortunately, by that time, word came around that everybody thought I was fortune teller reading tarot cards, so at least I wasn't caught off guard. When I told the girls I was a writer selling a book, they sneered and walked off. These kids wanted face paint, exoticism, and angsty teenage punk rock played by kids who had been doted on by their parents.

Enough said.

A red-headed Tinkerbell who came to my booth, declared she had participated in

the love-ins of the 60’s. She said that's what my booth reminded her of. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but decided to take it as a compliment.

An artist/writer named Nancy said "Eeewww" when I told her what Ella Bandita was about. Her disgust about my character was not enough to repel her away from my booth, however. Nancy proceeded to tell stories from her own life, about how much she had gotten jacked. She took up all the space – physically and psychically – and managed to repel any people who came by and showed some interest in my booth and my book. Possible customers craned their necks around her, but couldn’t seem to fit past the chip on her shoulder. So they moved on. After a few minutes of me saying: “Thanks for stopping by, Nancy. Nice to meet you! And have a great day!” Nancy finally left, after telling me she didn’t like to receive hugs from “strange women.”

I hadn’t been inspired to hug her.

A very sweet Swiss guy named Remo bought a book on CD after buying the collection of stories. He is in Homer, living in his van and staying out on the spit. Really, the fellowship of homeless travelers is pretty gorgeous. The next day, Remo brought me people to buy my book. One dude he roped in didn’t buy anything, but he sold me the “Key to Art” for $50. This Key to Art was mixed with chocolate, so it would even taste better.

Day one. 10 “Ella Bandita and other stories” sold. 2 “Why Roses Have Thorns” and 1 book on CD of “Ella Bandita.” That morning, I had had grand visions of 50 books a day. That evening, I knew that was unrealistic. It’s good to have dreams, I suppose. But it’s not so good to be attached to them.

The 2nd day came with tempered expectations and a more reasonable sense of promise. A guy who had stopped by the booth at the Concert on the Lawn, and had shown interest in the book but didn’t buy it was at the coffee shop that morning. I was there to brush my teeth and recharge my battery with a frothing mocha. His sister prompted him to buy the book before I got the Concert on the Lawn.

Ann and I rearranged the interior to make it more open. People were stopping by for a reading earlier and things were looking up. Around 3pm, I noticed a common trend that much of the interest coming my way was not exactly from my target market. It seemed a lot of interest was from 55 year old men who wanted to know me better. I’m no complaining. At least, not really.

In all, I sold 22 books. One was an exchange with the Reverend Poor Child and his CD of love songs. I didn’t have the heart to say no to a trade. Within hours, somebody told me that the Reverend Poor Child was considered the bad seed in town, and to “stay the f*** away from him.”

Oh gossip! Oh small towns! A friend in Juneau who knew the Reverend Poor Child from Anchorage didn’t go quite that far. But she did say that he was a prick.

This is an adventure. I’m meeting lots of really cool people and having a lot of fun.

Miss y’all.

Montgomery