We drove to Spokane again this weekend. Kristi has been booking us for "one nighters" over there for awhile now. We played the Spokane Valley Eagles. It is actually a different city than Spokane, and is about 10 minutes by freeway from downtown Spokane. We leave Tacoma around noon, but with a stop at the post office, and last minute forays into the house to find the things that we might have left behind it comes out more like 12:30 instead of noon. It must have been pretty close to noon as we arrived around 4 pm in Spokane Valley.
If you drive to Spokane Valley from downtown Spokane without taking the freeway you drive through a vast industrial area. Kristi was commenting on the empty hills around there and how there should be houses on the hills, but my guess is that people with real money just don't think about living in Spokane Valley. It's not as pecuniarily challenged as "felony flats", or Hilyard, but nonetheless I think exclusively middle class or less.
Don't we try to ignore class here in the USA? We try to pretend that there are equal opportunities for everyone, and I suppose if you can behave, dress, etc. enough like the upper middle class then you can get there too. If, however, you believe that you should get your share of the profits of the business you are working for, or even a fair wage fogetaboutit. Those who have are not about to give up their level of haveness to help the havenots, even if their having depends on a certain number of havenots. This has reached the level of public discourse lately that has been blatant about these conditions and is greatly reminiscent of Marie Antoinette.
To get to Spokane Valley, WA from Tacoma, WA one crosses the Cascade Mountains and the Columbia Plateau traveling through miles and miles of farmland and semi arid desert. In the winter the desert here in Washington is particularly wet. Yesterday as we were traveling across the farmland there was a wind, and apparently it had been dry as there was a cloud of dust hanging over the harvest corn, and potato fields. This was with a dark blue, and grey sky in back of it. I thought about stopping to photograph the scene, but I know that the lense of the camera does not capture what is in the imagination of a man easily, and I was hurrying back across the mountains to our home in "Hilltop" Tacoma. Still, the scene lingers in my mind like it somehow portends some great happening in the future or the past, as that was the kind of vision that it was as it permeated my consciousness. Who knows what that was all about?
I find the travel across the state always stimulating. On one hand there is always a sense of trepidation about the very idea of travel with the threat of being stranded someplace by weather, or mechanical failure, or just being too weary to sit behind the wheel of an automobile that length of time. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I've done it successfully. There is always the possibility of failure in the 300 miles, and further, the 300 mile return from the journey. It is a journey that can be seen as being fraught with danger. We have learned to push back our fear and move on. I think that Kristi could tell you that I become difficult to deal with at times though, as the fear pops up in irritability, and outright crankiness in me. It is emotion that pops out like an item out of suitcase that is too tightly packed.
Did I mention that Kristi grew up in Spokane. That was definitely a long time ago now. She is no longer a spring chicken, and I am definitely heading onto winter with my chicken these days. I can imagine that that colors our perspective in travel. I am aware that we could suffer "mechanical" failure as well as the automobile.
The car is silver
The mountains rise above
We drive far below
If you drive to Spokane Valley from downtown Spokane without taking the freeway you drive through a vast industrial area. Kristi was commenting on the empty hills around there and how there should be houses on the hills, but my guess is that people with real money just don't think about living in Spokane Valley. It's not as pecuniarily challenged as "felony flats", or Hilyard, but nonetheless I think exclusively middle class or less.
Don't we try to ignore class here in the USA? We try to pretend that there are equal opportunities for everyone, and I suppose if you can behave, dress, etc. enough like the upper middle class then you can get there too. If, however, you believe that you should get your share of the profits of the business you are working for, or even a fair wage fogetaboutit. Those who have are not about to give up their level of haveness to help the havenots, even if their having depends on a certain number of havenots. This has reached the level of public discourse lately that has been blatant about these conditions and is greatly reminiscent of Marie Antoinette.
To get to Spokane Valley, WA from Tacoma, WA one crosses the Cascade Mountains and the Columbia Plateau traveling through miles and miles of farmland and semi arid desert. In the winter the desert here in Washington is particularly wet. Yesterday as we were traveling across the farmland there was a wind, and apparently it had been dry as there was a cloud of dust hanging over the harvest corn, and potato fields. This was with a dark blue, and grey sky in back of it. I thought about stopping to photograph the scene, but I know that the lense of the camera does not capture what is in the imagination of a man easily, and I was hurrying back across the mountains to our home in "Hilltop" Tacoma. Still, the scene lingers in my mind like it somehow portends some great happening in the future or the past, as that was the kind of vision that it was as it permeated my consciousness. Who knows what that was all about?
I find the travel across the state always stimulating. On one hand there is always a sense of trepidation about the very idea of travel with the threat of being stranded someplace by weather, or mechanical failure, or just being too weary to sit behind the wheel of an automobile that length of time. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I've done it successfully. There is always the possibility of failure in the 300 miles, and further, the 300 mile return from the journey. It is a journey that can be seen as being fraught with danger. We have learned to push back our fear and move on. I think that Kristi could tell you that I become difficult to deal with at times though, as the fear pops up in irritability, and outright crankiness in me. It is emotion that pops out like an item out of suitcase that is too tightly packed.
Did I mention that Kristi grew up in Spokane. That was definitely a long time ago now. She is no longer a spring chicken, and I am definitely heading onto winter with my chicken these days. I can imagine that that colors our perspective in travel. I am aware that we could suffer "mechanical" failure as well as the automobile.
The car is silver
The mountains rise above
We drive far below
Monster
©Steve Nebel 2012
The sun fell slowly
from the sky as we drove away from it.
It stayed long
enough to illuminate our journey.
Does one ever
really arrive?
I think that only
happens once.
We brought our
baggage with us.
I try to leave my
baggage at home.
I always hope that
it will be all new
But there it is.
Rusted.
Dirt from my
fingers on it
And worn places
where I have touched it too many times.
The tears still run
down
And my screams fill
the air
That should be
still.
The 3D monster
still stands in the corner
Mocking me.
It should seem like
a cartoon character by now
But no
I still see the
monster as a real possibility
And make him come
true
Paint him in vivid
colors
And listen to him
go on about the conditions
In North Africa
Or Bangledesh.
Like he knows?
He’s only a
monster.
How could he know?
He rambles on about
a poor neighborhood in Queens
Mentions a Puerto
Rican immigrant
And for a moment
the monster becomes almost human.
We have arrived at
our motel.
One always hopes
for comfort
But that really
seldom comes these days.
Four walls and a
bed must suffice for comfort.
The monster screams
into the night
Warning you about
scenes that never come.
You move along
As the screams are
too far away for you to be really afraid.
The fear is only
someplace deep in your consciousness.
In the place
though, it is as real as the sun
Which has been
running away from
You and your
monster.
At the Eagles Club there was a fairly large crowd which only grew larger as we set up our gear. We had what we think of as just enough time to set up, but this is a fairly large club, and there is a large stage which makes setup easier. On a large stage you don't have to consider as much where you are going to put everything, and also we are not tripping over each other like one may be on a smaller stage. If a stage is too small, one of us may have to set up before the other can even move enough to set up. Oh, and Kristi and I have our individual responsibilities these days. We have done it this way for thirty years now. I set up the PA and my guitar, and Kristi sets up the computer and her guitar.
We had a happy dance crowd, and the first two sets saw the dance floor filled almost every dance. I have noticed that they are an especially country crowd, although there is a small audience for our occasional polka as well. By the time our third set starts the crowd is beginning to thin out, although several people come to the stage and let us know that they heartily approve of our musical selection before they leave. Kristi and I work to play everything properly, and I use my wireless capacity to allow me out on the dance floor when I don't have to sing so I can hear what we are doing and get the balance of our instruments just right.
The drive over has tired me considerably, and by the last set both of us are fading. The tempos of the machines start to seem fast, and if the machines are too loud I find it distracting. We broke down all of our gear after playing and put it carefully away. Kristi sipped on a coffee nudge while we put our gear away. By this time I am wondering if I can get this part of the job finished. I am thinking of security as we will be leaving our PA in the car overnight. I am thinking about taking the guitars, and computers up to our room. I am thinking about a warm bed and how good it will feel to fall into it and be sound asleep for hours.
The motel bed was hard and uncomfortable, but we were both so tired that we would have slept if it had been solid rock, and covered in ice. These days I don't sleep in. At least I don't sleep in very long. What is with that? My theory is that there are just too many places where you have little pains and that's what wakes you up. Kristi apparently doesn't suffer this way as she can readily sleep in.
We went to breakfast with Kristi's high school friend Stuart at Dolly's Cafe. It was one of those little places where they were well familiar with Stuart, and not unlikely with most of the rest of their patrons. The parking lot was full when we got there except for one spot which we parked in. We had left the motel a little early, and were early to our breakfast appointment with Stuart. When he got there the people behind the counter pointed us out to him like they knew who we were waiting for. We talked about his SOs drama/music project, his work, and commiserated on being landlords. We will see Tim and Stuart when we go back to Spokane Valley Eagles in April. It will be Kristi's birthday. Of course it will also be "tax" weekend, and I'm sure to be filled with some kind of anxiety over that.
After a nice chat Kristi and I got in the car, set the mp3 player to play a novel we had been listening to, and drove back across the mountains and prairies of Washington to our home in Tacoma.
Steve Nebel 3-4-012
After a nice chat Kristi and I got in the car, set the mp3 player to play a novel we had been listening to, and drove back across the mountains and prairies of Washington to our home in Tacoma.
Steve Nebel 3-4-012
