Destination: Charlotte

Eight days, twelve states and one pigeon-fatality later, we have arrived safely in Charlotte.

This morning as we planned our final route, we saw one option that wound through the Smoky Mountains.  Google maps claimed it would take barely forty-five minutes longer than going on the main interstate the whole way.  Perfect!

The road turned into a beautiful, winding path through green foliage,

 with periodic pull-outs to see the mountains.  We were so glad we had chosen this route.

...Did I mention that the path was "winding"?  And green?  Eighty miles into hair-pin turns through absolutely identical green foliage, and we were both cursing google.  Forty-five minutes, my eye.  Try two hours.

Okay, actually we decided that only about ten percent of ourselves (the somewhat carsick, ready-to-go-faster-than-thirty-mph part) cursed google.  Overall, we actually were quite happy to get off the interstate for a while.  And it did feel somewhat adventurous.  The only other people we encountered were motorcyclists and a convertible or two.  And it was gorgeous.  Just...curvy.

And, finally, it brought us to North Carolina!

It's a little sad that the drive is over (although I'm not sorry this is our last hotel night).  This has been like vacation.  Tomorrow I actually have to do things, like sign papers and clean and move heavy things.  Sigh.

But being here is good.  I'm excited that this next life thing--whatever it ends up being in the long run--is beginning...

Superman and Music City

The signs began almost 100 miles out: "Superman waits for you!  Come tour Metropolis!" and "Giant Superman Statue!!"

We couldn't help ourselves.

Who knew that the populous-seeming, crime-ridden home of Clark Kent and the Daily Planet was actually a tiny, tiny town in the middle of southern Illinois, which looks like this?

At least, though, they have their fifteen-foot statue of the Man of Steel in Superman Square (although I would hesitate to call fifteen feet "giant").

It took a while to get over the sheer excitement of experiencing Metropolis.  By the time we reached Nashville, however, we had recovered sufficiently to putter around for a while.  

I'm going to pull a Victor Hugo here:  Although it in no way concerns my story, I will now include an aside about the parking garages of Nashville. (Unlike Hugo, though, I'll keep the aside under fifty pages.)  In short, the parking garage we used was insane.  You Portlanders?  Picture the garage at Powells--you know, with the random posts in the middle of the road and the narrow, tightly curving honk-as-you-go-to-avoid-head-on-collisions passages with layers of paint scrapes along the walls from all who misjudged their cars' turning radii--only crazier, with a more maze-like configuration and chambers off of the main artery with no exits, so you had to do a seven-point turn to get out if there wasn't a spot.  Yeah, insane like that.  Gold star for my car, though, for handling the turns. We escaped unscathed. Barely.

Okay.  Aside finis.  Back to the day's narrative.

My mum had never eaten at a Hard Rock Cafe, and we figured Nashville was the perfect place to check that seems-like-something-iconic-to-do-sometime thing off her list.  It was sort of hilarious, though, since neither of us are huge rock and roll people--not to mention country-loving rock and roll people--so we were not fully able to appreciate what I'm sure was an excellent collection of memorabilia.  We kept saying really knowledgeable things like, "Interesting jacket.  I wonder who that guy is."  Our waitress was very sweet, but quickly gave up on actually trying to have a conversation with us.

Actually, I had that I-bet-that's-cool-if-you-know-about-those-kinds-of-things feeling throughout most of Nashville.  It was fun--as it always is to wander around and see new places--but not somewhere I would hurry back to see again.   I felt like it was filled with history and significant moments that were just completely lost to me (also filled with lots of loud, live country music, honky-tonks, and western apparel--"buy one pair of boots, get two pair free!").  I bet it would be more fun with a local to show me around.  

I will say, though, the ice-cream at Mike's ("Home of Nashville's First Espresso Machine") was phenomenal.

More on point, however: We are now definitely south of the Ohio River and in the land of elongated vowels and sweet tea.  Tomorrow, Charlotte-ho!

Baptism by Steam - St. Louis

We are officially east of the Mississippi River, in Mount Vernon, Illinois.

Most of the day, however, was spent in St. Louis.  My cousin and his family live there, so it was a chance to connect with them for the afternoon.

If you want to be incredibly encouraged about the work of God in the midst of really hard things, check out their family's blog, Tulips and Rembrandts.

My mom and I also spent some time wandering along the Mississippi waterfront near the Gateway Arch.

The humidity is exciting here.  As my cousin's wife put it, they were giving us Oregonians a "baptism by steam" today.  (As West-coasters themselves originally, they would know.)  I think there should be a rule against sweating without exertion, though.  Seriously.

On to Kansas City

Today we skirted the edge of Iowa and dropped down through Missouri to Kansas City.  It's nice to be back among hills and trees and green grass. It was a shorter driving day, so we tried to take some roads less traveled instead of sticking only to the interstate.  Good choice.

There was enough time when we arrived in Kansas City to do a little exploring, so--after some road construction detours and wrong turns--we found and wandered a path along the Missouri River.

Strangely, it has looked like late autumn all day.  Whole groves of trees in Iowa had no leaves at all, and--although it's warm and humid--the sky has been deceptively Oregon-autumn overcast.  Beautiful, but odd.

Nebraska...

...is quite lovely right now, at least along the river where the drought is less apparent.  There were trees and green fields and wildflowers (perhaps weeds to some people, but wildflowers to me) lining the roads, and even some variations in the elevation here and there which you may be able to call hills.

We were able to visit my dad's aunt out on the family farm, which was a cheerful break to the driving.  I love being a part of my family.  It's filled with great people.

Tonight, we sleep the bustling metropolis that is Lincoln.

Unrelated note update: The worst of the tropical storm has gone over Haiti. They had high winds and a lot of rain, but it's unclear as of now what the damages are.  Please continue to pray.  (If only some of the floodwater in Haiti could go to alleviate the drought in the Midwest...)

Ah, Wyoming

We crossed the great brown flat of Wyoming today, and are sleeping in Loveland, CO.

Actually, although it was brown and flat and, let's be kind and say "repetitive," Wyoming is beautiful in it's own way.  And, we found a fort we didn't know about (Fort Steele), and a tree growing out of a rock (apparently that rates its own official, state-sanctioned blue "Point of Interest" sign by Wyoming standards), and I got to test the patience of my mother by pulling over multiple times to take photographs of interesting rock formations and rain over distant hills (and, of course, the tree growing out of the rock).  Thanks a lot for passing along that compulsion, Dad...at least Mum is used to it by now.

Other than that, it was a lot of brown and scrubby bushes.  At least they let you drive fast.

Tomorrow, on to Nebraska...

(More photos from today can be found here.)

Nampa to Salt Lake City

Twin Falls, ID — I was intently focusing through my camera, choosing a position to capture the interesting angles of the trestle, when in my peripheral vision something large and blue went flying off the edge of the bridge and plummeted towards the water.  I about had a heart attack.  Oh my gosh, it's someone's car.

Not a car (thank goodness).  A paraglider.  Then another.  Then another.  All told, four people leapt off the bridge in front of me and gracefully steered themselves to the edge of the river.  Unfortunately the pictures are out of focus, but here's the idea (upper left):

We had stopped at a scenic viewpoint outside Twin Falls to take a look at the Snake River.  It was a good view, but incredibly hazy.  Evidence of recent fires—blackened roadside fields, charred bushes, smoky air—has surrounded us on the drive so far.  

It has made the sunsets gloriously rich and red, but has also tinged them with a sort of terribleness, even in their beauty.

Now we've arrived in Salt Lake City, Utah for the night.  Like Nampa, it is so far uneventful.

I did take more pictures at the Twin Falls stop.  Feel free to check a few of them out here.  (They're mostly studies of pattern and color, though, so I don't know how interesting you'd find them...)

On a completely unrelated note:  There's a hurricane headed right for Haiti right now, scheduled to hit tomorrow.  Please pray for the people of Haiti—and my brother and sister-in-law, who live there—that there would be minimal damage (or miraculously, no storm at all).  Hurricane winds and tent cities do not get along well.

Nampa, Idaho

We were off bright and early and have made it to Nampa, Idaho for the night.  The drive was uneventful.  As is Nampa, so far.

Cheers to the MAF headquarters being here, though...

The Final Oregon Hurrah

We roasted sticks (and "shmarshmallows," but the sticks were more plentiful),

threw "really big, humongous heavy rocks" into the lake,

and generally had the perfect last-Oregon-summer-before-moving-to-the-sweltering-humidity-of-the-South weekend.

It's always interesting to explain time and distance to children.

Me: Hey nephews, I need extra hugs and smooches, because I'm moving far away.
Nephew 1: Like, as far as the beach?
Me: No, really far.  Like, the other side of the country.  The beach is one hour away.  I'll be seven days away, in the car.  You'll have to get on an airplane to visit me.
Nephew 2: Oh, so it's like a whole mile?!?
Me: Farther than a mile.  I won't be able to play with you until Thanksgiving.  That's all the way after Nephew 2's birthday.
Nephew 1: It's okay, Aunt Mary, you can still come to my house next week.  I'll make you a special cake.

...They never did get it, really.  But it was wonderful, at least, to have one last romp with them, and to spend time with my brother and sister-in-law.  Our camping trip was a perfect blend of sunshine, thunderstorms, salamanders, pine trees, water, star-gazing, running around, relaxing, and hilariously earnest conversations with my boyses.

Tomorrow, morning, though, I'm off!  I'm glad finally to get this show on the road and see what this new place brings, even if it does mean saying goodbye to some of my favorite people for a while.  Moves are almost always bittersweet like that, hey?

The Final Portland Hurrah

This weekend, one of my favorite people in the world came for a visit.  She's one of my Baltimore people (but, lest you wonder, she now lives in California, so it actually did make sense for her to visit me before I move back to the east coast).  It was perfect timing for a mini-vacation and re-connection with a good friend.  I'm sleep-deprived (somehow talking took priority over sleeping), but my soul is refreshed.

We did many lovely Portland-y things.  There were the staples: Powell's, the waterfront, Multnomah Falls, the rose garden, Stumptown coffee, general wandering through the Saturday Market and farmers market.  We watched beavers and herons at the rhododendron gardens and had pastries at the charming little St. Jack Patisserie (where I happen to know the pastry chef...highly recommended).  

We did two things, however, which I—as a born and bred native—had never done, and they were awesome.  All of you Portland people out there should go do them.  

The first was the Kennedy School, which is an old NE Portland elementary school which was repurposed by McMenamins (another Portland fixture, of course).  They have transformed into a restaurant/pub/gathering place/movie-theater-pub, filled with appropriately quirky artwork and lots of outdoor space.  The movie theater is $3(!) for an evening show and the seats are all comfy, mismatched couches and armchairs.  I have been to many McMenamins locations and one or two of their other theater pubs, but this was a particularly fun one.

(I didn't have my camera, so photo is courtesy of  http://www.bva.org/spr09bulletin/reminders.html.)

The other was The Grotto, which is, well, a grotto.  Our highschool choir sang there every year during their Christmas festival, but I had never actually seen it in daylight.  Nor did I realize there was an elevator which would take you a hundred feet up into a lovely, peaceful arrangement of paths and gardens, with a view overlooking the city and river.  You would never know you were less than ten minutes from an international airport.  

I am excited and ready to move, but I am going to miss this city.  Somehow, seeing all my favorite, familiar places with someone who had never seen them before made me realize afresh how much I love them.  So, appreciate where you live, all you Portlanders.  It will help to know that my city is being properly enjoyed in my absence.

Zdravstvuitye

Shasta's heart fainted at these words for he felt he had no strength left. And he writhed inside at what seemed the cruelty and unfairness of the demand. He had not yet learned that if you do one good deed your reward usually is to be set to do another and harder and better one.

- C.S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy

If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them.  And if you do good to those who do good to you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners do the same.

- Luke 6:32-33 (English Standard Version)

Loving people is hard.

I remember a particularly difficult time with a friend at university, where she was working through deep wounds in her own life by trying to control her other relationships (like ours) in unhealthy ways.  Our friendship turned into a series of painful conversations and very high relational stress.  During that time, my desire to love her didn't waver, but my determination to act on that love certainly did.  I was tired, and bruised, and all my efforts seemed futile anyway.

I remember praying daily that God would help me to show his love to her.  It was only towards the end of that season, though, that I realized: I had not been asking God to help me love her better.  I had been asking him to make loving her easy.  I was hoping for—maybe even expecting—some sort of beatific wellspring to appear me, which would make it effortless to be kind and patient and encouraging.  I didn't want to be frustrated and hurt and choose to speak gently anyway; I wanted speaking gently to be the only thing that even occurred to me.  I wanted goodness to flow out of me unbidden.

Since then, I have discovered that attitude creeping up elsewhere: I want loving people to be easy, I want trusting God in impossible-seeming situations to be easy, I want breaking deeply-rooted cycles of sin to be easy...

Yes, I believe that as we grow in faith and our hearts become more closely aligned with Christ, that these things get easier.   But easier isn't easy.

On my very first day of Russian class, I was expected to say "zdravstvuitye."  Ha.  Right.  (Seriously, what kind of language puts that many consecutive consonants in the word "hello"?)  A few months of class, and Russian was "easier," too.  I could whip out zdravstvuityes without even thinking.  The horribly complicated system of word-endings necessary in order to say "I live in a house" instead of "the house lives on me," however?  Again, ha.  And again, a few months later that concept was easy and the next thing was hard.

I'm willing to put in the work and suffer the frustration to learn Russian grammatical systems (yes, I'm weird), yet when it comes to spiritual matters I expect to grow without effort.  I want magically to skip right from wherever I am to perfectly virtuous. 

…It's a hard thing for me to understand, how the completeness of God's work and my own efforts intertwine.  I am continuing to learn how God's power is made perfect in weakness, and how securely I can rest in his grace, and how trying to do and grow in my own strength is different from doing and growing in God's strength.  I do know, however, that we are not promised anywhere that loving people or trusting God or struggling against sin will be easy; in this broken world, those things will be hard.  We are promised help, and comfort, and hope, and sustenance, and strength, and power, and mercy...but not ease.

Loving that friend in college was not easy at the time.  Maybe now, years later, if I went back  as my current self and faced it again, it would be easier.  I'm pretty sure it would be, actually.  But it doesn't work like that.  Now I'm faced with now--the people and situations and struggles of today.  They're still hard.  Indeed, I have the distinct (sometimes sinking) feeling that that "really hard" time was just a zdravstvuitye in my life.  It will only keep getting harder.  Yet, perhaps weirdly, I'm convinced it will keep getting better, too.

Here comes North Carolina.  Praise God that he remembers that we are dust.