Imagine That...

Ain’t Nothing Like That New Car Smell

Where have I been, I wonder? The glimmering shards of this blog's discarded existence must surely have led you to ponder that question. If it makes you feel any better, I have been asking that of myself recently. This summer has simply flown by like a runaway freight train going light speed and I am hanging onto the caboose by a hair with my arms and legs flailing off the back, leaving my trials and tribulations in its wake with no documentation to prove that they actually occurred. And now all of a sudden it's mid-September – barely summer (except that it's 90 degrees outside) and you know, it's damn time I muster up the urge to whip this online scrapbook into action again.

Every day is a new day so let's start with this one. This morning I woke up for the first time in my entire life to a brand NEW CAR waiting in my driveway. Oh halleluiah, Lordy lord have you ever seen such a beautiful sight? She is splendid – a 2007 Honda Civic Hybrid. Color: Galaxy Gray, which is a very sexy not-quite-gray, not-quite-dark tan, but instead a resplendent amalgam of taupe-like wonderment that seamlessly blurs the distinction between gray and tan. The car features a high caliber sound system with iPod port and steering wheel controls, a light, roomy interior to fit the whole carpool, cruise control, a working air conditioning which I am always thankful for after surviving five consecutive summers in the sweltering sub-tropical Floridian soup without it, even though my last car had an environmental control system that worked just fine. It goes without saying that the gas mileage savings of this vehicle is insurmountable (surpassed only by its chief competitor – the Toyota Prius, just without that wacky bar in the hatch-back that everyone complains about.) So now I can (and will) say to a world of ubiquitous SUV's that I am proudly part of the new revolution. Hazzah!

I'm a little excited about my new car…can you tell? I should mention that the whole car-buying experience was fascinating. Car salesmen (and women) pose a curious sociological inquiry and should be studied in order to determine if they are in fact real. Their abject phoniness makes me suspect. Nevertheless, I had no choice but to work with those "people" and hope they would not totally screw me. And I am confident that they didn't totally screw me, leaving me only a little screwed. For example, I didn't get as much for my trade-in Mitsubishi Diamante station wagon, despite trying to up its appeal by advocating its obvious chick-magnet potential. Didn't you know, station wagons = chicks!

For some reason they weren't convinced.

Speaking of the wagon or Jivanananda as she was more lovingly referred to, meaning "the Bliss of Wind" in Sanskrit – turning her over before her time rather saddened me. I am a sentimental guy, and she had served me well. Together, we travelled from South Florida to Central Arizona before finding our way home to San Antone a mere 2 ½ years ago. Settling a deal on a new car and turning her over to the dealership felt awfully sudden. Not much time to say farewell to a good and mostly reliable pal. Though she is 12 years old, and struggling with chronic transmission and oil leakage issues, I know that she will make some lucky driver out there incredibly happy. Cheers, Jivanananda! You're a glistening gem, don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Where was I?

Oh, yes that's right!

Waking up with a new car in the driveway really provides a hankering for adventure. Luckily, I had one planned. My friends Adrienne Cole and Tyler Applegate from Madison, WI were in Austin for the Austin City Limits Music Festival and I took a quick jaunt up to Capitol City to take them for a spin before their festival day of activities began. I know Adrienne and Tyler from my Taliesin days. Back then, Adrienne and Tyler were part of the Spring Green folk/pop quartet Box Elder, the indisputable local favorite whom we all adored. Last week they got hitched and came to Austin for their honeymoon. In case you were paying attention, since leaving Taliesin and starting this blog, I have been blessed to see my favorite Wisconsin band twice – once last summer during the aptly-named Frank Lloyd Wright All-Star Tour, and again further back for New Years 2005. Anyway,sometime between my last two visits to Wisco, the band regrouped as Dear August. They just released a new CD and they were kind enough to provide me with an autographed copy.

I picked up Adrienne and Tyler and we went for a Mexican brunch at El Chile, a restaurant just east of downtown. We caught each other up on gossip, speculated the merits of the upcoming Led Zeppelin reunion which the world can't be more excited about, and discussed the overwhelming similarities between Austin and Madison as capitol cities in mid-American states with highly active local music scenes, political intrigue, and home to their respective state's largest and finest universities.

The newlyweds with my new car!

At some point we said our good-byes. They had a festival to attend, after all. I drove around Austin for a while until I found a nice coffee shop to camp out in for a while. Later, I drove to New Braunfels – a town about a half hour outside of San Antonio, to meet up with Vicki and all our friends to celebrate her birthday. We had dinner at a restaurant we've wanted to try called the Huisache Grill located in their historic and picturesque downtown.

It was a nice place – I bought Vicki the necklace in the photo and made her an origami box to keep it in.

This was supposed to be an angry face group photo, but not everyone in our gang got the memo.

I understand. It's tough to justify even contrived anger when there is so much to be happy about in this world.

A Trunk Full of Stuff

It was about a year ago now, that I became a surrogate hermit in my friend Kimberly's apartment in Bend, Oregon. I had just left a very intense, year long experience and felt the need to hide away for a month or so and attempt to make sense of a serious miscalculation.

I left Phoenix to fly into Portland the day after the disaster that was November 2nd, 2004. Along with half of my country and most of the rest of the world, I was heartbroken and disillusioned about the whole ordeal, but remained focused at my task at hand. I was going to write about my personal heartbreak and disillusionment with grad school. I chose to stay with Kimberly during this time, because she has always been a bright and shining star in an otherwise dark and gloomy sky. I knew being blessed by her presence for an extended period would bring me much needed assurance that the world wasn't so bad after all.

Quick side story about Kimberly. We met our freshman year of college, in the middle of the night. Our dorm - Smith Hall - was having a fire emergency (or rather someone was having a drunken goodtime at the expense of 600 sleeping freshmen), which happened all too frequently in the middle of the night. Anyway, I was entranced by this beautiful girl with long, curly hair who was full of comparable fervor for things like classical music, post-impressionist art, and recycling. We remained friends up until midway through our junior year, when unfortunately, free-time evaporated from my life and we lost touch. It was something I regretted profusely during my senior year, but it seemed futile to even start the hopeless task of looking for one person at a university of 35,000 students. This is why I am still amazed that we reconnected through the off chance of happening to be in line beside one another to pick up our caps-n-gowns, the week prior to graduation. In the year between FSU and Taliesin, I moved home to South Florida, where fortuitously Kimberly also lived with her boyfriend. We spent alot of time basking in eachother's company. Kimberly moved to Portland about a month before I left to go to Scottsdale. I hadn't had the privilege of her company since.

I put alot of thought (too much, as it turned out) into what to pack for my visit. I had taken to Taliesin with me a car load full of stuff I would need. And now I was leaving the bulk of it, and again consolidate what I would need for my upcoming one month stay with Kimberly and beyond that indefinitely at Yogaville in Virginia.

This was extremely whittled down to the basics - my winter clothes, my summer clothes, my laptop, my brand new printer, my yoga mat, my accordion file with all my important documents, more than a few books, and several other things that I just couldn't live without like a ceramic, tea infuser mug. This bare minimum of essentials all fit into a medium size suitcase, my leather duffel bag, a messenger bag, and a trunk that was no bigger than four cubic feet at most.

I realized the horrifying error of my ways at the ticket counter at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport when the clerk explained to me that A) I had one too many bags, and B) my trunk weighed 78 lbs. - 28 more than allowed without an additional fee of $50.

I did the only thing I could which was to pay the fee, and somehow shove the contents of my messenger bag into the others and lug around the cumbersome duffel bag as a carry-on.

Kimberly met me at the Portland airport. She had driven in from Bend (some 3 hours away) where she since relocated for a lame job. Lucky for me, her then boyfriend Nolan was with her. He was broad shouldered enough to tenaciously mount the heavy trunk and carry it to Kimberly's car.

It was a ridiculous misjudgment on my part - those who wander should do so lightly.

When it was time to leave Bend after a very productive four weeks of writing, wishing it would snow, and being a very capable "house husband" - I made a deal with Kimberly. I was going to re-evaluate and reconsolidate my necessities. I gave away some of my clothes to Goodwill. And what was left of what I again wouldn't need, I would leave with her to one day retrieve. In the mean time, she could use the trunk and it's contents (such as the printer) as she wished. I suggested that the trunk itself would make a damn fine coffee table.

Yeah, Kimberly got the short end of the stick on that deal. But she's been a hell of a sport about the whole thing. I've been so grateful at her willingness to lug around a trunk full of my stuff as she has moved back to Portland and twice since to various living situations.

Between the time I left it in Bend (circa Thanksgiving last year) and now, the trunk has come up a number of times in our periodic phone calls. I have always been braced for the "Hey Ben! Get this stupid trunk out of my life" conversation. But everytime, Kimberly surprisingly assures me that she doesn't mind harboring it. If anything, she has implied that it ensures another visit from me someday. Its such love, especially considering that I have since abandoned my wanderings to settle in Texas of all places. You'd think she'd at least make me pay her to ship it to me.

This week, finally, Kimberly called me and told me that there is an issue regarding my truck.

Again it wasn't what I was expecting. She just moved in with her friend who we'll call Kate.

"My roommate," Kimberly told me, "is OBSESSED with you."

Really?

"Yes!" she continued, "your trunk. She cannot believe that I have been lugging around your trunk for a year."

Ok, so Kate is obsessed with my trunk.

"You wouldn't believe it! It's driving me crazy. She won't stop asking about it and if we can open it. I've been so good Ben, and I've never opened it. Its your trunk. Your stuff. I promised to keep it for you. But Kate just wouldn't quit harassing me about it. Day in and day out, can we open the trunk? When do we get to open the trunk? I MUST KNOW WHAT'S IN THE TRUNK! She keeps demanding."

Ofcourse, it didn't help that the trunk sat in the common space of their apartment and served as the coffee table, constantly taunting poor Kate.

Well, a few nights before this phone call with Kimberly, as she explained, the two of them had a Housewarming Party with about 15 of their friends. It was a potluck, and everyone was enjoying themselves. Then Kate, in front of the whole lot...brings up the trunk.

Kimberly did what she could. But alas, had to compromise to the will of her guests, whose collective curiosity Kate had certainly peaked.

Needless to say, there, in a room full of strangers watching, my trunk was violated. Opened so that all could bestow the mystery of its treasures.

Kimberly said it was a tremendous disappointment. No crown jewels or golden doubloons or anything. Just some clothes, a broken printer, and a yoga mat which Kimberly also said now belonged to Kate.

The interesting thing that I enjoy most about all this is what I learned through the process of consolidating my needs over and over again. Stuff is just stuff. I never really need any of it. The combination of distance and time sure does make stuff unimportant and obsolete and meaningless. Consider that I went off to grad school leaving stuff behind at my mother's house, then I took to Oregon the stuff that mattered most, only to leave a trunk of it there and move on to Yogaville for three meditative months outside the Material World, only to return home to my mother's house a year and a half later and wonder why I left so much stuff there in the first place that I didn't care about at all anymore.

Well anyway, I'm happy I don't have that stuff. I've lived without it now for so long. My life has changed so much. I have changed so much. That stuff that was so important a year ago has lost it's relevance as part of my life.

I'm happy to share it with people who need it. I'm happy that Kimberly found a sweater of mine that she likes and I'm happy that Kate has rustled my yoga mat out of the darkness of the trunk. Its an item that had brought me into spiritual realms of existence and I'm thrilled that someone else can benefit from its pleasures.

Simplification and giving to others are the greatest gifts we can give ourselves.

Kimberly and I at a river near Bend.

Kimberly and I on the Marshmellow Chair at DWR in Portland.

Ah, Kimberly - so smug in the bliss of being a great friend.

She did say toward the end of that last phone call that if I was lucky, I might be graced with a belated birthday present. I suspect it might be something I've long since forgotten about living in that bountiful trunk of my stuff.