travelling

June 17, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 24 – Mad Season

Here I am again with an entire album. I couldn’t help myself. This is one of the few that I couldn’t pick a single song from if you held a gun to my head. Every track is pure perfection, and far surpassed their first album. At least, to me. And that’s saying something since I was (still) absolutely in love with their first release.

For the longest time, I was blissfully naïve. I thought everyone loved Matchbox Twenty. It wasn’t until I worked at Border’s that upon merely mentioning their name everyone in my vicinity rolled their eyes. (It’s not like I said Nickelback.) I find this kind of behavior super fucking pretentious. The notion that one set of musicians is better than another because they’re not as “commercial” or that they hadn’t “sold their soul to music executives” is exhausting. Here is where I roll my eyes. Just because the band hasn’t been discovered doesn’t mean 1) that they’re even good or 2) that they’re better. It just means there wasn’t a mass appeal for them as there was for another.

Anyway! I’m getting entirely off-track.

The reason I chose this album is because this, along with their first, makes me think of summer time. It brings to mind the excitement and energy of travelling. Every time I listen I’m back in the rear seat of my parents car, headphones on, playing Pokémon on my gold GameBoy pocket. This one in particular recalls the summer right after my 8th grade graduation when my parents took me and a close family friend, Nycole, on a road trip to Canada. This album was what drowned out the sound of the constant bickering between my Aunt and Uncle, who had joined us mid-way through and hijacked our trip.

The trip up to the point, after we realized they had joined us for the remainder of it, was super fun.

While Nycole isn’t a blood relative she feels like a cousin. Even now I will call her that, with no relation between the two of us. She’s transcended normal friendship, primarily because we’ve been friends since we were itty-bitty babies.

I’m not going to lie to you, dear reader. The whole reason my parents planned this trip to Canada was so that I could 1) have my first taste of a “foreign” country and 2) so that I could purchase a plethora of Beanie Babies with Canadian tush tags. At the peak of the Beanie Baby craze, the more sought after plushes were those with this specific piece of legal type. Dumb, I know. Even as I wrote this I saw my dad shaking his head at the explanation. I didn’t choose the beanie life, it chose me.

However, because of my Aunt and Uncle, my time in the Great White North was limited to only a few hours. This was due to them having decided they were going to drive everywhere in their extended cab, diesel truck. It was here that I learned to NEVER AGREE TO TRAVELLING WITH ANOTHER FAMILY. EVER. I refuse to relinquish my ability to be able to do what I want, when I want. If I don’t have an escape route available, I will not take the chance.

By the time we had made it to our neighbor’s to the north, my parents had had enough of them, and so had Nycole and I. Looking back, they’re addition truly soured the entire trip. It went from the freedom to discuss what we wanted to do to: this is what we’re gonna fucking do whether you want to or not. It sucked.

It was on this trip that we were forced to spend an entire day taking a ferry over to Victoria Island so we could go to Butchart Gardens. (Fun fact I dated a dude who’s family had owned it!) I tried to buy Beanie Babies there, but I found none and wasn’t even given the chance to really look because my Aunt and Uncle INSISTED on using public transportation. Now their forced schedule was even more rigid to this.

Once we were free of them, the dark cloud that had built over my family lifted. I mean… it truly was night and day. These people were super toxic. And we had no idea until it was too late. Afterwards my parents knew their limitations and limited the time they spent around them to a minimum.

My dad repeatedly apologized for having said anything to them. He took the blame for having our trip turn into the vacation from hell. Even though it really wasn’t that bad, looking back. It was just them. They were such negative, miserable people.

That was the last big vacation my family ever took. From then on it was just weekend trips to somewhere within close proximity to where we lived, and far enough away that family couldn’t invite themselves.

With the exception of (half of) this adventure, I’ve loved road trips since I was a kid. I know most don’t because they’re trapped in a single place for copious amounts of time, and kids like to run. But I was a sedentary child. Proven by being overweight for the majority of my youth. My idea of fun was having my headphones on, staring out at the passing scenery. My mind would wander from one story idea to another, or I would just relax with the quiet from my constant buzzing thoughts.

Today the polycule and I leave for our own road trip. We’re going to be travelling up to South Dakota and then back down to Denver to see Chris Stapleton. (I got tickets for the hub’s birthday.) He actually just performed here in town last night, but when I went to purchase entry there were no handicap seats available. At all. So, I thought why not make a whole thing out of this and pick somewhere far away.

I just wonder what song or album will define this trip?

November 4, 2014

Cemetery Birthday Bash

This is the last birthday of my twenties. In just one more year and it’s all down hill. To get the ball rolling the common theme of this years trip to London has bee death and the after life. For instance I went on a ghost walking tour of London and that was exciting and today I went tromping through a grave yard in the pitch of night, but let me explain.

The man I claim for my want and desire to be a writer is C. S. Lewis. After I read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” in the third grade I’ve wanted to be an author. Since then I’ve read all of the Chronicles of Narnia and some of his religious studies but… Those are not my cup of tea considering I’m an atheist. (Haven’t always been.) Regardless of my dogmatic views I value the man more than anything. So for my birthday I wanted to take a day trip to Oxford. It’s where Lewis studied, taught, and lived. We went on a bus tour which was lovely up until it began to rain. To escape the wet weather I forced my husband into the shelter of Blackwells book shop where I bought a journal he swears will sit unused and two autobiographies I can’t get in the states. I had intended to buy another copy of “the lion…” But my husband asked “how many copies would that make?” “4.” Yes that’s excessive but it was purchased in Oxford! Whatever.

Finally I ate dinner at the pub he, Tolkien, and others of the Inklings met every Tuesday to discuss their literary works. And serendipitously it just so happens to be Tuesday. And to top it a off, the table I chose at random was 12, which holds no significant meaning to Lewis as it does to me. (It’s my lucky number.) After our meal I was ready to go. It was getting dark and my plan to visit his grave seemed like a pipe dream. So, I accepted the pub visit to be it, but my husband attempting to make my birthday special offered to walk to the cemetery where he had been buried. I warned him that it would be a long trip but he assured me that it’d be fine.

Before we had gotten even a quarter of the way there it was night, since it gets dark at 4:30 in the United Kingdom. Fun. And hoofing it at our quickest speed wasn’t cutting it so luckily we caught a cabby and he took us to the Holy Trinity churchyard. He dropped us off and backed out the long single lane drive.

Using the light of my phone we searched the cemetery reading every headstone. After going to every single market it wound up being the final one. Isn’t that typical? I said a few silent words thanking the man for giving me a dream and held back the tears. There’s nothing more than my husband loves than to see me cry. He’s a freak. (Says the guy who wanted to spend his birthday in a cemetery searching for the grave of a man he never met.)

At the end of it we are both exhausted, but it was fantastic and a trip I won’t soon forget.

November 3, 2014

We’ve mainly slept in London

We’ve been in London for two days and already we have fucked up our schedule. Jet lag is a bitch, yes, but there are ways to make it worse. For instance, he got the advice from his father that the first day you arrive try to make it to 9 o’clock. The last time we were here we failed to do that and end up waking at early hours. This time I suffered through the first day just craving sleep and walking around like a zombie (I had gotten 0 sleep on the plane.). We make it to bed by 9 and are out instantly. We then proceed to sleep until 4 in the evening. Evidently we were tired. So my tip: sleep when you’re tired. Good thing we have 2 weeks here or I would have been PISSED to waste an entire day sleeping. By the way, it gets dark by 4:30.

To not make the day a complete waste we went on a Walking Ghost Tour led by an amazing guide named Sara with a thick Wisconsin accent. As it turned out she was from Michigan but most people think she’s Canadian and the Brits love Canadians. So she goes with it. The tour was par for the course. It was good and very little happened. Except when the tour wound its way to St. James park and she explained that this park had a tendency to have moments of debauchery. My husband and I turn to each other and go “what kind?” Debauchery is such a vague term. Our ideas of misconduct happen to be sexual, cause as it happens in our little neck of the world parks are notorious hook-up spots.

So far things have gone well. We got ourselves set up with a weekly tube ticket that, when purchased at any train station (not tube), offers a good number of 2 for 1 specials on different tours, sites, and dining. Today’s ghostly tour being one of them.

October 23, 2014

A Week Away

It’s quickly winding down and by in a weeks time I will be on my way to London. As my husband pointed out last night we have planned nothing. That’s right, Charles, we have not. I have set certain things I want to do, but otherwise I’m not creating an agenda for myself. The only thing I want to do is on my birthday and that’s to be in Oxford to visit the grave of C. S. Lewis. (The man is my idol, despite our very contrary dogmatic views.)

While I am so excited to return to (so far) my most favorite city in the world, I am equally as scared. Yeah, the ten hour flight has me sweating, but my fear stems primarily from that fact that we are Broke. I sold my stocks today to get a little bit of cash and let me give you a tip, don’t keep looking after you’ve sold whatever you own. Trust me. I have a couple new credit cards to bridge a little bit of the gap but that makes it to where I have a grand total of $4,000 USD to play with. At this point I don’t know what my husband is bringing to the table. He doesn’t want to admit it but he’s cagey about money. Don’t let him lie to you and say he’s not. And I feel I should note that it’s $4,000 considering that I max out my new credit card which Capital One stupidly gave to me. (Suckers!)