Category Archives: Musings

Dad’s Dreaming of the Mother Road

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Route 66 Shadowbox

This shadowbox created by Dad commemorates some of the highlights of our trip in tacky postcards, Zuni fetishes, and other iconic American west kitsch.

Our Route 66 trip in 2006 was painstakingly planned and entirely conceived by your father. This American road adventure had burgeoned into a romantic ideal for him of mid-century automobiles and motor courts, neon signs, and wide open spaces sliced by roiling highways, punctuated with lonesome telephone poles and bordered by the black scars of train tracks. Route 66 did not disappoint.

Starting in Amarillo, Texas, roughly the halfway point of the 2,451 mile road, we drove around 1,400 miles (with excursions to Santa Fe and the Grand Canyon), sticking as much as possible on the original Mother Road, through the idea of America to reach Santa Monica and the Pacific Ocean after almost two weeks.

Adrian and Matthew were good travel companions…scratch that. Matthew was a wonderful travel companion, who never complained and happily pronked about every time we pulled the car over for another excursion. He and Adrian were good travel buddies until they lost their mind somewhere in the Mojave Desert listening to Tom Waits (or was it Steely Dan?) on the car stereo—the stoic Styrofoam cooler wedged between them paid the price.

Dad was thrilled to be able to do a mini-reprise of some of his favorite Route 66 haunts with Dani later on during their trip from Olympia, Washington to Miami.

The photos and the souvenirs are interwoven with our memories and preserve our collective story of the trip. But Route 66 meant something different for each of us, and I suspect it changed us in some indelible way that hums just beneath the surface of our skins.

Here is a gallery of the shadowbox:

Lesson 3: Carpe diem, baby

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This 1947 photo was taken during Carnival festivities on Paseo del Prado in la Habana. The car is a Buick convertible owned by Grandpa's friend Armando. The man in the mask is another friend, Porfirio, and Tio Pepe is wearing the striped pullover.

This 1947 photo was taken during Carnival festivities on Paseo del Prado in la Habana. The car is a Buick convertible owned by Grandpa’s friend Armando. The man in the mask is another friend, Porfirio, and Tio Pepe is wearing the striped pullover.

I LOVE this photo of Grandpa. It captures a moment, an era, and most importantly, a state of mind. He is devastatingly handsome, young, happy—in short very much alive and in the moment. The crowd in the background is almost inanimate. They are observers and not participants in the moment.

Note Grandpa’s display of bravura with his raised finger proclaiming a number one to the sky. The man wearing the white mask next to him raises his arms in a personal offering—“take all of me” his gesture proclaims (clearly, it is the mask talking.) And Tio Pepe hangs on to the back of the car looking like a cool cat who just jumped into the picture for the hell of it.

This picture is a reminder that you MUST be an active and decisive character in the story of your life. Don’t just watch from the safety of that metaphorical crowd which makes us passive and un-present. I have regrets, but they are mostly about big things I did not do (move from Miami, travel more…) But it’s the little treasured deeds that can spread a warm glow over your mind, body, and spirit when remembered. Never pass on the opportunity for cold champagne or crispy French fries (preferably paired together). Never, ever miss the chance to swim naked—in good company and open to what happens next. Or singing out loud the songs that made you want to love love or live forever or die happy. Or hanging out of an open-top automobile and owning the world with your smile.

Final note: The image above was cleaned up by a co-worker, Kevin Corrales (thank you). The image below is a scan of a photocopy of the original and is as worn out as the memory of that day, but this too tells a story of how it survived so we could still marvel at the magic of a long lost moment in time.seize the day original

Category 5 Ganesh

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I am irresistibly drawn to figures of Ganesh, the many-armed elephant Hindu deity who is venerated by millions as the “Remover of Obstacles” and the “Lord of Beginnings.”

Hurricane Andrew was in a twisted sort of way the Ganesh of Hurricanes—a Category 5 force of nature that swept away the veils that can sometimes confuse us so that we believe we are what we own.

Dad and I had gone to Lollapalooza the day prior to the storm, blissfully unaware of the impending catastrophe. We saw Pearl Jam, Sound Garden, and the headliners were the Red Hot Chili Peppers—one song in particular got stuck in my head—“Give it Away” by the Chili Peppers.

After we emerged from under the mattress we’d dragged into the kitchen at the height of the storm, and the cabinets you had spent the two-hour assault inside of…after I realized we were not going to die, that the world had been remade in shades of broken terracotta tiles, smashed glass, torn vegetation, and blue, blue sky…I walked around the house trying to figure out what I needed to pack up and take with us, and all I could think was:

What I’ve got you’ve got to give it to your mamma, What I’ve got you’ve got to give it to your papa, Give it away give it away give it away now…

I packed up our photo albums, home videos, and some clothes for all of us—everything else stayed behind. My “things” weren’t important for the span of a few days until I returned and began the four month process of rebuilding.

I’d like to say that the life-affirming and liberating feeling stayed with me, but I’d be lying.

Still, last Friday was the 20th anniversary of Hurricane Andrew, and we were once again preparing for a possible strike by soon-to-be-hurricane-but-still-tropical-storm Isaac, and looking at my coterie of Ganeshes, I knew I could “Give it away give it away give it away now” or later if I ever had to.

After I am gone

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There will be many objects to sort through. Most useless, all beautiful, to me at least. You grew up surrounded by  these “treasures,” but you may have never really “looked” at them, that is, seen them through my eyes. I hope the little details I will share with you gives you a deeper appreciation for “Mom’s stuff.”