Notes on the Road to Vermont

A roundabout path takes me to Nagoya airport. I always think of this as Japan's Chicago, and from here I'm to fly directly to the American original. But then I'm told I have to change in SFO. Wha? I intentionally came all this way to avoid that. Despite my travel walla's major error, I shrug my own big shoulders, deciding to forget it with coffee and blueberry cheesecake. The first forkful drops onto my khakis. I'll wear this purple stigmata for the next 30 hours.

The High Sierra's absolutely snow-capped, despite a calendar nudging June.

From the speakers in O'Hare, Orwell's disembodied voice reminds me of the recent Orange Alert. I keep my eyes open but see no fruit at all. As I await my next flight, an Indian guy sits next to me and proceeds to talk on his cell phone in Hindi. A trio of short hairs eyes him with slight frowns, then one of them exemplifies US foreign policy perfectly by launching into a story of the cremation he witnessed in Baghdad during his recent tour.

The sun setting twice on the 29th of May; once over the Pacific , again over Lake Eire.

Jet-lag makes me feel shrink-wrapped.

I'm feeling more disconnected from the US this time around. It's been two years but feels like twenty.

The usual good times in CT, despite sleepless nights and tormented stomach. A massive thunderstorm triggers an electrical frenzy of thoughts in an already sleep-deprived mind.

Drive north. New England greatly resembles its aponymous older sibling in its churches and town names. Though thankfully without the crap weather. I laugh aloud at some signs-- "Worship in Canaan," "Mexi-Canaan," "Willies Weiner Wagon". On two occasions, I spy a driver in the midst of a tremendous fit behind the wheel. Closer approach reveals arm waving usually seen in a rap video. Another tragic Drive-by Shouting. Ignoring these references to the present century I drive on, thru towns older than the country.

Finally arrive in the town where I'll spend a few weeks. I look up the town's main street. How'd I wind up in Sicily, Alaska?



On the turntable: Los Romeros, "Spanish Guitar Favorites"
On the nighttable: Blake Morrison, "And when did you last see your father?"