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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, troosty.
So, I Went To Canada 02-November-2005 2:30 a.m.
You know, I didn't mean to saunter off way up north without saying goodbye. I really didn't. I had this other entry started and then nearly completed but, see, this weird thing is likely to happen when you're not accustomed to traveling: you can become a travel spaz. And that's what happened to me. My mind flew out the window and landed in Canada long before my body ever did. I think I was there a good week-and-a-half before I actually arrived.
I learned a few things on my journey. What the fuck is a MD-80? That isn't a plane, that is a large tampon with wings. Big enough for a worldly vagina but not exactly large enough for air travel. I don't know. I have only traveled on 747s (all my six previous planes). On this plane there were exactly 3 millimeters of space between my knees and the back of the seat in front of me. When a snooty woman, who decided to move seats and delight me with her company and her bag of chips which she chewed like cud, asked if I'd like her to just crawl over me (instead of having to get out of my seat and stand in the narrow little aisle to assist in the ease of her new seating arrangement), I said, "Yes, do you mind?" with all the sugary ooze of a southern belle. She crawled over me and I have to admit, I kind of liked it. Made me think perhaps I might really be into that Dominant/submissive crap after all. Actually I much prefer the Grumpy/Not Grumpy, But When You Are It's Pretty Fucking Amusing lifestyle.
Great mother of rancid peaches, I am feisty at the moment. I discovered on the little MD-80 wind nugget that I am not all that fond of air travel. Not in a smallish plane, anyway. I was so claustrophobic I thought maybe a brief trip out to the wing for a bit of air would be nice. Maybe take with me a bucket of vodka and a pack of someone else's cigarettes. And a pocketful of prayers and hopes and wishes that are destined to come true. Instead I rested my head on the shoulder of someone I adore and hoped to live to see another sun. Just enough suns to get me home.
We arrived in Calgary sometime after midnight. The only place open and still serving food in the airport was Tim Hortons, who may or may not be my shiny new lover. (Well, I hadn't eaten anything but a small bag of airplane pretzels and two fig cookies all day, so I would have likely given my heart away to anyone at that point, in exchange for a sandwich.) Tim makes really good hot chocolate, which I did not discover until a few nights later. But the night we arrived I made extra special love to one of Tim's BLT sandwiches, which I must say was most divine on the baguette without the T, because they were out of the T, and the T gives me heartburn anyway, so fuck yeah. What sort of Sicilian woman gets heartburn from the T of a BLT? Jesus.
What I was (and still am) wondering is what do people in Canada call Tim Hortons? There appears to be one of those little restaurants every few inches. Do you say, "I'm going over to Tim Hortons for a coffee (or a sandwich or whatever)" or do you say, "Let's go to Tim's for lunch"? Or do you call it Timmy's, like you know him really well and have since you were both kids? Or maybe it's just ol' Hortons. I really want to know.
We got lost so many times I am still dreaming about it when I sleep. Let me tell you something: when you are lost, the people of Alberta are there to help. These are people who don't mind giving directions, nor do they treat you like you're a moron when you ask them to repeat those directions more than once. Our second night there we drove for hours to a long-awaited place we were expected to be at a certain time and found ourselves tragically lost due to some screwy yet well-intended directions from an online map site (it was the first and only time we had ever received wonky directions from that particular site). There must have been seven or eight people inside the gas station's food mart—employees and customers—all gathering together to help us find our way, pulling out maps, carefully tracing our way for us with fingers along squiggly lines. And not once during our trip did I encounter the feeling that someone was talking about me as I walked away. That was a lovely change from the feeling I get in L.A., where it seems as if someone is usually judging you and summing you up without knowing a single thing about you as you move through your day.
I don't know exactly where it originates, but there is a heaviness there in the north; a certain sadness or longing that burns into your veins if you are the least bit sensitive. I felt it and wanted to give the whole province of Alberta a warm embrace. I experienced such deep loneliness; my own as well as that which lingered in the atmosphere there. A few nights into our vacation I found myself crying on the bathroom floor of our hotel room for an hour or more, full of sorrow for myself and everyone else. The sort of crying that rips open your heart with every sob. That isn't such a bad thing, considering we are meant to live with our hearts open and not all defensively sewn up with ribbon or dental floss or whatever's handy. It seems that Canada pried open my heart to the point where I was feeling that overwhelming compassion I used to think would ruin me when I was younger. But now I know I need it no matter how painful it is. That degree of compassion is part of who I am, and I have secretly longed for its return. I was reminded that armour was designed for battle, not everyday living.
My Love had given me a beautiful blue book with a gold moon on the cover in which to scribble the details of my travels. I wrote in it as I cried that night in the intrusive yellow light of the bathroom, the same cruel light that showed me every inch of my body I hope no one ever sees. I hope those parts don't really exist, that they only appear in lighting so unkind it makes stuff up about you and then laughs while you stand there examining the results of its lousy sense of humour, wishing most of it away.
I am in Calgary, sitting on the bathroom floor here at the hotel. I am asking God or anyone who will listen and provide useful answers what I am meant to do in this life. No one is answering, or I'm not listening. I am not sure which. I don't want to break my mom's heart by never realizing any of my dreams. I don't want to break my own heart the same way. I feel lost.
I am too sensitive for this life. I know that. I wish I had some answers. I wish I had another chance. I can't go back. That realization aches inside my skin. I don't know where I am. I thought I would have found myself by now.
...Here on this bathroom floor I am unraveling. I want what is mine. I want good health. I want my music. I want my words. I want what I came here for, whatever that is. I want to stop feeling like I am falling apart. Please help me get on the right road. I am so tired of being lost.
I wonder how the folks of Alberta would do with a map of the heart? Maybe it's the perfect place to be lost in any sense of the word. Maybe you have to get really down and dirty with your lost feelings to realize it is time to find your way through it all. Fear is so goddamned useless.
The only other entry in my travel journal consisted of almost-completed song lyrics that I had promised myself I would finish before we left for Canada, a song I had also promised myself I would sing someplace in Alberta at an open mic. But I didn't get a chance to finish it, despite my quietly diligent effort on the little MD-80 tampon plane.
"...I will land right where you are, Bits of sky inside my heart."
I will finish it, and then I will record it. And perhaps you will hear it and even like it. That would be worthy of a smile, for sure.
We drove home. We ate the plane fare and don't even care. We drove through parts of Montana, Idaho, Utah, Arizona, and Nevada. There is some seriously beautiful land here in the United States. I feel grateful to have encountered some of the kindest, most beautiful strangers I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, both here and in Canada. Thank you to every one of you for the unexpected warm smiles, the directions, the suggestions, the recommendations, the reassurance that you would watch over our rental car and make sure it wasn't towed when we didn't have enough coins for the parking lot meter thingy that night (you're my favourite security guard). Thank you for lighting our way.
The morning after we returned home, I dreamed I was lost and My Favourite Canadian was repeatedly giving me directions to where I wanted to go, where I needed to go. But I couldn't seem to get there. You know what? I know for a fact I will get there one day, in this life. And that day will find me smiling.
Quote From My World
"This is really pretty."
"The music?"
"The meat."
Well, I'm off to reap the benefits of sleep. That means I'll be prettier when I wake up. Either that or I'll have a hairy ass. I can't seem to keep straight the information I read lately from article to article. I think I might be speaking in tongues now. Thanks for reading.
Happy Halloween (the other day)! (It's my favourite holiday.)
Linda
Travel Pictures
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