I write to you now from the warm adobe plaza in Taos New Mexico. My things have finally been removed allowed to stretch out across the floor of my new home after being packed up in my focus for the past 17 days. And after 17 days of jumping time zones I feel at home in the high desert town, nestled amongst 12,000 foot mountains and the Rio Grande gorge.
While driving up here, a man pulled up next to me rolled down his window and began waving his arm as if I were a semi and he wanted me to pull on the horn. I give in and roll down my window. “arere yuewju tra?” he says. “WHAT” I shout across the highway. “Are you from Tracy?” I make out. “Yes” I reply, realizing my license plate says Tracy Ford, and I am not about sort out the where I am from question while going 75 across a four lane highway. “I’m from Stockton” the man shouts proudly. Not knowing what else to do, but certainly not willing to pursue this further, I wave him the hang ten sign and let him pass me. I have been battling that same where are you from question for a while now. Both envying and pitying those who simply answer “I’m from here.” I have resigned to say that I am from San Diego. Other answers include “my parents live in the bay area” which usually results in further questioning of where and me resorting to the end of the BART line. Or I might answer “my school is in Albuquerque” which most people then assume UNM and I have to clarify that I go to a small school that is actually a satellite school off a university in Illinois. Again to complicated. I could also say “I was born in New York” but not without explaining subsequent moves to Minnesota, Northern and southern California and most recently New Mexico. But San Diego. People know where San Diego is and I reek of California, so it is usually the most succinct and accepted answer. None the less I am a merry wanderer. In the great words of Bob Marley- Travel Wide, Travel Wide.
Summer Camp.
I made it through six weeks in family practice which felt more like summer camp than work, including a camp name.
"What's your name" a patient asks.
"Elisabeth" I respond.
"Yeah, but whats your second name" the women persists. Alluding to the fact that no one in the south has just a one part name. There I was ‘Miss Elizabeth’ or ElisabethAnne.
The inner banks and Drug reps of North Carolina spoiled me with its sweet tea, southern pulled pork, and red velvet cake. And the outer banks with its warm ocean waves, steamed shrimp and crab legs. And my last week I conceited to try a souhern classic—the Chick’n Chedda’ Biscuit from the chicken kitchen. Think what you may, but take it from the ultimate skeptic; it is the most tantalizing of southern cuisine. I don’t have a picture, but the chicken kitchen is an old wood house with faded blue paint and inside it carries the scent of flakey buttery homemade biscuits and crisp breaded chicken. It has the kind of thick cheddar cheese that melts out onto the wax wrapper and turns it translucent. All I can say is I am glad I did not try one until my last week.
My preceptor Amanda, was an absolute delight, sharp as a tac and pushed me to see every infected ear and strange rash and lawn mower accident that walked through the door. Her husband Collis was my behind the scenes advocate- concerned as to whether or not my apartment had a TV, feeding me homemade Texas Brisket and ensuring that Amanda and I got to go kayaking through the swampy estuaries of the inner banks. And Doc Robert Earl Lane- an old town celebrity who called everyone sweetheart while grabbing you around your waist, he cut things open without letting the numbing medication have its effect quipping “it’s a good thing I’m gentle ain’t it.” And my nice neighbor lady who shared just a little too much and tried to set me up with everyone she new in Edenton, but also made sure my iron and stove were turned off on more than one occasion.
The south was a funny place and I will miss the smell of roasted peanuts, cotton and tobacco fields, double names, and frustratingly poor grammar.
EST
My last day of work was July 30th. And I woke up early Saturday morning, excited it was the long awaited packing day. I am a natural at very few things- but I take pride in my high density packing. I could have been an engineer. Books and cutting boards line the cut out surface of the rear of the trunk. Next the crevices are filled and evened out by socks, t-shirts and jeans. Then a grid of egg crates and canvas bags medially and my bicycle laterally. My car travel bag up front and my duffle bag for my flying ventures tucked behind the front seat. I made “bars” out of whatever I had left of my baking supplies as part of my “no ingredient left behind” policy and placed them between the front seats to power my through my 2,000 mile drive. And I was set—with enough time to catch Amanda and Collis for one last swim and dinner.
Aug 1- I began my venture home, but not without a 4 hour detour up the coast to Washington D.C.—you cant help but feel patriotic as you pull into a city designed by a French man…
Pulled up to Tasnuva’s block and parked between a BMW and a Lexus, as to make my focus, packed with all my material goods seem a little less appealing to those thieves out there. We hopped on space mountain, I mean the DC metro (same thing really) and headed for pancakes, and park shinanigans. We hopped in on a game of football/Frisbee with a couple other guys and a couple of kids- and when inquiring as to where the kids came from one of the guys said I don’t know his mom just kind of dropped them off at the park and said she would come back later. The city is filled with young people from all over—Tasnuva went as far to start using “Hella” as to distinguish herself as a Californian. 1 coffee, 2 refills, a five guys burger, open mike and metro ride, and 6 hours of sleep later it was Monday and I was back in my focus.
Aug 2- So.
Country Roads- Blue Ridge Parkway The “smokey” mountains. Smokey meaning there are in a cloud which makes them appear smoky on a good day. On a bad day such as this particular Monday it just means dense fog. Judging by the number of guard rails, and bridges I could make out I am sure the blue ridge parkway is worthy of its status as a national park. On august 2 however I strained my eyes to see 15 feet ahead of me. At one point I got off to ask the nearest way back to the interstate, and behind me pulled off a motorcyclist who waited for me in hopes to continue to follow me through the fog. Believe you me, I audibly praised the 40- shouting “take me home I-40!” as I turned onto the on ramp. I made it to Ashville in time for a tour of the town stoked about its urban active wear and homemade organic food shops, though I left empty handed after taking a look at its price tags- curse you “designer green”! Ever onward- I made it to Nashville that evening. Monday night and all the doors on the mainstreet are open with live music flowing out onto the streets. I spent the night on a couch with a friend of a friend. Her name was Liz and she lived with a girl named “Betty” and upon finding out my name was Elisabeth they asked what my middle name was- Elisabeth Anne- turns out all three of us were Elisabeth Annes (well Elizabeth Anns)! Betty cut my hair. How do you like them apples.
Central Time
Aug 3- Done with the road and plow my way back from Nashville to ABQ. 1,200 miles and 18 hours later I made it. I did gain an hour making it a little less painful—and pure stubborn ambition to be a road warrior.
Mountain Time
Aug 4- Lived the ABQ dream with a jog, errands and dinner in old town-green chilie and sopapillas, and studying late at the UNM library. With the girls house packed full of people and the boys house with 5 empty couches I slept at the boys house that night, not bothering to question why no one else wanted to. Despite the lingering scent “boy”, I slept like a rock.
Aug 5-suffered through the school thing. I tucked my car safely into the Fox’s garage next to the affectionately named “Green Weenie” and disealed powered Jetta, where my car would be safely kept for the next 11 days. Entertainment for that night was playing Swedish Engineer as we attempted to reconstruct my white Ikea desk in its new home- Phoebe’s room.
Central Time
Aug 6- Arrived in Minnesota just before midnight where my bed this time was a couch in my uncle’s basement- never underestimate the comfort of a cool celler in the middle of a humid Minnesota summer.
Aug 7- I completed a triathalon- raced on a mountain bike with wheels half the size of my road bikes and came in 3rd in my age group- unclear as to if this was a dream, too ridiculous to be real. If it werent for my father showing up in the rain looking like a drowned rat from the constant drizzle, taking pictures- I wouldnt believe it. Toured the Mall of America with my brother’s family- one twin asleep and the other being forced into the mini American Girl doll displays, cooing at each new scene.
So it was my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary that night. I was all set and excited to go- I had made it there despite plane delays, my purple dress was hanging up ridding itself of wrinkles- but as I flipped through the name tags in a box on the table I noticed my name tag was not there—grandma grabbed the box “of corse it is” as she begins to look through them all. “well carole, did you even check them” says grandpa. “Check under Q” Melonie quips. Nope not there. Guess I will be babysitting tonight with Nick, the Man-ny tonight.
I still made it onto the boat that night—and I am glad I did. Nice words were said by all. “Love is not gazing longingly into one another’s eyes, but instead looking forward in parallel”
Aug 8- After a delicious brunch (see recipe Appendix for more) we had dinner with Apple valley folks taking some classic shots of Chris, Karl, Ali and I infront of the garage door.
Aug 9- Well he did it. 49 years old and my dad still pulled himself up on his old slalom waterski, gliding out over the wake and shooting up a spray. I think that old ski will break before he does.
Aug 10- Casettas pizza, roof top cocktails, the messiest display of a last super at granny’s with Mady pounding green beans, me tipping my wine, Karl dumping his water…
Pacific coast time
Aug 11- Back on the west dancing in Katie’s car to our personal anthem “California Girls” as we make our way to the park for an epic Volleyball tournament. The more I travel, the more I notice how all cities have very similar qualities- the trendy green in Asheville, the lake side path and old homes of uptown Minneapolis, and the coming together in community spaces like in DC. Back at Katies apartment, Nick whipped up on of his specialities. “Two tortillas is the secret, and you have to get the sauce all the way to the edge of the tortilla” he tells me. Man this guy is an expert. ANNND a sponsored kite boarder- check his blog! (and see appendix for tortilla Pizza recipe)
Aug 12- As it turns out, some of Katies friends were headed to crater lake for a camping trip and could drop me off in Portland. But what I need to emphasize is that they were car camping. Well they were RV camping in a car- meaning they had the amount of stuff you would put in a car packed into Katie’s Matrix. I had to bite my tounge while they were packing- resisting the urge to just do it for them, seeing as I am the packing master- their placement of coolers and tents, soft shell bags was all wrong. Regardless I shared the cupcakes I had purchased that morning with them and we drove along merrily. They dropped me off in Vancouver at Jami’s house. WoWser. Beautiful. We drove down to Portland and she hiked me all around town- powell’s bookstore, 23rd streel, downtown, china town, waterfront, voodoo donut, pearl district. Cocktail hour, the mall for shoes and then brought me to Alex’s house and waited with me. We watched for a bicyclist to ride up, and were faked out about 7 times before he finally road up. Hurray!
Aug 13- With alex off to work at 7 am, I took advantage of the day getting in a good run through the cool air along the river and then played domestic goddess bobbing and darting through town on his very reflective bicycle. Dumped a load of laundry into the machine, covered it with baking soda and hoped for the best. Soon enough I heard the rumbling a beating of a troll- I rushed downstairs to the washer and made my best efforts to constrain the beast. Before adding the next load, Scott, the gental giant came down and thurougly explained the condition of the washer, adjusted its fooding and helped me with the next laundry load. This would be the first of many calm explinations and demonstrations from scott. I rushed off to the grocery super store, and biked back with groceries and organizing supplies for alexes room under each arm. Next off to the Clog master- nice women. good clogs. Grabbed alex's freshly seamed and polished nerd shoes and headed back. Made some cuban Pork sandwhiches with onions and jalopeno peppers and salsa and beet salad in time for alex to come home and devour it. I generally cook by the "I'll have what your having times two rule" which usually works out well. That evening we biked across the steel bridge to whatch a bike race in the pearl disctrict, and no more than 2 minutes upon our arrival should I hear "Liz" and who should it be but Grant J Loomas, an old Hillcrest dinner co-oper. "Of course you are here" I say.
Aug 14- Alex again trotted off to work at seven with what was no doubt an extra spring in his step due to his new clogs. I headed out on a quest to find the most delicious almond croissant- wish I had a recipe for that one, but it is on 5th street at an Italian bakery. I made my way through the classic canvas tent city with trendy green artisans and vender foods. After an epic journey down the bike path I returned starving rescued by a text from grant to get burritos. 31st and Alberta. I ride through blocks of regular houses and out of nowhere comes this trendy little street with loads of d-lish restaurants. When Alex came home that night we made it out to the Columbia Gorge. I was thirsty
Aug 15- Sunday, Alex and I drove out to the coast for the dramatic beaches of the Pacific North West. Car rides, ocean, and naps are good for the soul and soulmates. Dinner with a Minnesota-Nice- Couple.
Mountain Time Back to the future, fly home to ABQ, pick up my car from lidnseys house and drive to taos.
Aug 17- my uhhh first day to work… preceptor called in sick, went mountain biking, and now here. My place is without internet. So I am pulling a Ria- pre writing my emails and blogs and then sending them from the town square. The entire town square is a wireless hotspot. I am a big fan of Taos. A little bigger than silver city, the charm of santa fe without the snobs and plenty of adventure to be had.
