tired, poor, & huddled
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
===========================
I know that I should be catching up on the day-to-day, but I need to take a moment to pause and relay to you all that this trip has really begun to renew my love for this country; and my faith in folks in general. I alluded to this in my last entry, but it bears repeating. And it bears remembering when I'm back home and caught up in my small and elite city community and when the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket all over the place.
The night before we left, we went over to Safeway, right across the street of out home on the top of Queen Anne Hill in Seattle, and we conversed briefly with one of our regular checkers. She's a very nice young lady, maybe mid- to late-20s. We slipped in that we were leaving for a month to tool around the west, and she said, "I have no desire to explore the Americas; it just doesn't interest me." WELL! Since our car was packed and we were on our way to go do just that, I'm not sure what conversation could have sprung from taking that path, so we simply smiled awkwardly and nodded. And pardon me for generalizing, but I might reckon that a lot of liberal city folk feel something simliar.
But they (and she) are missing out on an amazing richness and diversity. Diversity, much like people, comes in many colors. Diversity is not just found in Seattle, or in "the city." This country is so cussing beautiful in so many different ways that I think I have cried or gotten rather vaklepmt every day on this trip. Sometimes it's the scenery but mostly, it's random moments of interaction with the folks we run into that cause my heart to leap into my throat.
In a mere 2 weeks, I cannot count how many times I've seen strangers from all over the world strike up conversations and find something in common within 60 seconds. I've participated in this phenomonom myself (it turns out I truly am my parents when I travel campin'-style). How amazing is that? It is indeed a small world after all.
It feels a bit good to live in a liberal city and smoke and drink and feel a bit cynical about the world. But it feels better to lose a bit of that pretense and actually converse 1-to-1 with those who probably vote opposite of you. They want the same things - love, happiness, comfort, a future for their children. They maybe just see a different way to get there. The dream we can agree on; the path - perhaps not.
This track is not an easy direction for my mind to take. It's full of uncomfortable contradictions, and backtracking. It's easier to live in the liberal city and imagine that the stupid fuckers "out there" are ruining it for the rest of us.
Okay. So human beings are complicated. And the stupid fuckers out there are ruining it for the rest of us, kind of. But they are also amazingly kind people who, in a crunch, would give you the shirt off thier backs without asking any questions. City folk maybe ask a few more questions before dolling out their kindness.
I don't know. I'm a bit drunk on JD on ice. I am high on the fact that we decided to get a cabin tonight instead of setting up our tent. I am beside myself that the 4 cabins surrounding us seem to be rented by some family reunion; and that Shoogs and I watched a "under 10-years-old" talent show as we were unloading stuff from the car and pouring our first Jack. I feel joyously melancholy, if that makes any sense at all. I just know that I would not trade this trip for anything. And I also am aware that I am incredibly lucky to be able to do this at all. I feel very "connected."
Yep. And I need to sleep before I get any more sentimental. I may read this tomorrow and cringe. But as me and my best-friends-4-ever used to say back in drama club in high school, "The drunk man says what the sober man thinks." That may the only thing we actually understood at that age.
Love,
Peggy Jean
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.
===========================
I know that I should be catching up on the day-to-day, but I need to take a moment to pause and relay to you all that this trip has really begun to renew my love for this country; and my faith in folks in general. I alluded to this in my last entry, but it bears repeating. And it bears remembering when I'm back home and caught up in my small and elite city community and when the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket all over the place.
The night before we left, we went over to Safeway, right across the street of out home on the top of Queen Anne Hill in Seattle, and we conversed briefly with one of our regular checkers. She's a very nice young lady, maybe mid- to late-20s. We slipped in that we were leaving for a month to tool around the west, and she said, "I have no desire to explore the Americas; it just doesn't interest me." WELL! Since our car was packed and we were on our way to go do just that, I'm not sure what conversation could have sprung from taking that path, so we simply smiled awkwardly and nodded. And pardon me for generalizing, but I might reckon that a lot of liberal city folk feel something simliar.
But they (and she) are missing out on an amazing richness and diversity. Diversity, much like people, comes in many colors. Diversity is not just found in Seattle, or in "the city." This country is so cussing beautiful in so many different ways that I think I have cried or gotten rather vaklepmt every day on this trip. Sometimes it's the scenery but mostly, it's random moments of interaction with the folks we run into that cause my heart to leap into my throat.
In a mere 2 weeks, I cannot count how many times I've seen strangers from all over the world strike up conversations and find something in common within 60 seconds. I've participated in this phenomonom myself (it turns out I truly am my parents when I travel campin'-style). How amazing is that? It is indeed a small world after all.
It feels a bit good to live in a liberal city and smoke and drink and feel a bit cynical about the world. But it feels better to lose a bit of that pretense and actually converse 1-to-1 with those who probably vote opposite of you. They want the same things - love, happiness, comfort, a future for their children. They maybe just see a different way to get there. The dream we can agree on; the path - perhaps not.
This track is not an easy direction for my mind to take. It's full of uncomfortable contradictions, and backtracking. It's easier to live in the liberal city and imagine that the stupid fuckers "out there" are ruining it for the rest of us.
Okay. So human beings are complicated. And the stupid fuckers out there are ruining it for the rest of us, kind of. But they are also amazingly kind people who, in a crunch, would give you the shirt off thier backs without asking any questions. City folk maybe ask a few more questions before dolling out their kindness.
I don't know. I'm a bit drunk on JD on ice. I am high on the fact that we decided to get a cabin tonight instead of setting up our tent. I am beside myself that the 4 cabins surrounding us seem to be rented by some family reunion; and that Shoogs and I watched a "under 10-years-old" talent show as we were unloading stuff from the car and pouring our first Jack. I feel joyously melancholy, if that makes any sense at all. I just know that I would not trade this trip for anything. And I also am aware that I am incredibly lucky to be able to do this at all. I feel very "connected."
Yep. And I need to sleep before I get any more sentimental. I may read this tomorrow and cringe. But as me and my best-friends-4-ever used to say back in drama club in high school, "The drunk man says what the sober man thinks." That may the only thing we actually understood at that age.
Love,
Peggy Jean
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