It's been a bit since I've written, just staying occupied I suppose. It took me a full two weeks to finally kick that cold. Although I'm still fighting some serious nose crud I think that it's all attributable to the pm in the air (engineering nerdspeak: particulate matter, ie pollen and pollution).
About two weeks ago, during our bouts with individual colds, Lauren and I decided on a trip down to Elko over the weekend of October second. Five days before departure Lauren changed her mind, justifiably so, citing a need to unwind on her own and soul-search a little. Initially I felt sad and somewhat confused, but after some thought decided that I, too, might benefit from a solo trip down to my homeland. The strange part was using her family's truck... I have a hard time borrowing things from my own family members, and although I'm close with Lauren's mom and dad I still felt awkward using the little red truck. I got over it though once I hit the road. For a beater old Nissan with just shy of 150,000 miles it runs decently; almost reminded me of zipping home in the Metro back in the old days.
I got to Elko on Friday afternoon and logged a nap in the familiar too-short bed in 'my bedroom' at the folks' house. From the moment I arrived I could feel myself relaxing... like tight piano wires inside of me twanging loose in the familiar surroundings. My mom was still at work but left behind the traditional Post-It note on my bed along with some clean towels. She'll never give up hope that I start showering more frequently...
Over the next two days we had a lot of time to visit, a lot of time to think. My mom is a coffee junkie like I am (though she's managed to switch primarily to decaf while I'm still 'chasing the caffeine dragon') so we hit every java-hut at least once during my visit. It's not the coffee, you know, just the reason to sit down and spill thoughts. My mom is a great friend and more. She knows that we can share things on many levels, both friendship and kinship. My sister doesn't swill the mud like we do, but we found our own reasons to sit and catch up.
Saturday morning I watched Jacob play football in what is his first season of tackle football. Yep, big kid stuff. He's a big kid for his age- tall that is, but looks awfully outweighed against the kids one or two years older on the field. He's figuring it out though and made the last tackle of the game. The sweet part is that he has so much fun out there, much more than I ever did in team sports. From 30-yards away we could see him, from the free-safety position, extending his Gatorade-stained tongue out at us. Sweet, how many kids could make faces while on a football field?
Mattie's Bar and Grill, the local 'hot-spot' in Elko, charges $1.00 per game for billiards. My good friend Steve Crapo was bartending and hooking us up with some beverages, however, so we were able to afford a few games. For a Saturday evening it was pretty dead in there, which I relished. I don't particularly enjoy running into old friends at the bars in Elko, nor do I enjoy inhaling so much tobacco smoke. The scant crowd improved my visit with my pool opponent, my sis. The game itself reminded us both of my father, which of course drew out a lot of sighs, head-shaking, some cuss-words, and a general sick feeling in my gut.
My father is an extremely skilled billiard-boy, a skill he's never seemed to lose nor grow modest in, regardless of time or chemical saturation. Apparently Mr. James Allan is residing once again in Elko, Nevada, and I was prepared to run into him (and anticipating it). Never happened, though, which I can attest did not affect me one way or the other. The last time my sister saw him he was spun out worse than ever: grinding teeth, darting, wild eyes, busy hands and fingers, sweaty hair and skin. An oh-so-upsetting feature is his smell, she said; sour and indicative of a whole lot of time away from soap and water. Despite all that I was prepped to see him.
The visit concluded with a short drive up Lamoille canyon to witness Fall's effect on the plants and animals there. Bob, who was stuck working all weekend, had made the drive a few days earlier and said "the colors are unbelievable, unbelievable. Wait till you see them, unbelievable." He didn't lie a bit, I saw colors that even Crayola would have a hard time naming. Try: Golden Fizz Yellow, Grenadine Red, Mantis Green perhaps. It looked as if humungous drops of paint, hundreds of yards across, had fallen from the sky and splashed imaginary and impossible colors in clumps across the canyon walls and the valley floor. Groves of canary-yellow aspen butted up against opposing thickets of citron-green birch and elm. I have oftenseen the confetti-like muddle of leaves on trees in other areas during the Fall season, but there in the canyon entire fields flaunted shades I'd never seen in my life.
Soul-clearing, for sure. You know, throughout the Bible the wilderness is mentioned as a place where man goes to find God; to escape the bustle of culture and life and open his ears to something higher. Even Jesus went on a little 'outing' for 40 days to really connect with God. There is no coincidence there. Standing a gasp with a yawning canyon before you, spilling colors and sounds and smells so alien to society, you find something more.
I wanted to tell all about the drive home and my reconnection with Lauren, renewed with appreciation for her presence in my life. But for now I'm riding the high of that memory in the canyon. I'm tired of riding, I'm going for a hike.
Regards-
calvino
