...I discovered that I did not know my own country. I, an American writer, writing about America, was working from memory, and the memory is at best a faulty, warpy reservoir. I had not heard the speech of America, smelled the grass and trees and sewage, seen its hills and water, its color and quality of light. I knew the changes only from books and newspapers....Once I traveled about in an old bakery wagon, double-doored rattler with a mattress on its floor. I stopped where people stopped or gathered, I listened and looked and felt, and in the process had a picture of my country the accuracy of which was impaired only by my own shortcomings.
So it was that I determined to look again, to try to rediscover this monster land. Otherwise, in writing, I could not tell the small diagnostic truths which are the foundation of the larger truth....
With all this in mind I wrote to the head office of a great corporation which manufactures trucks. I specified my purpose and my needs. I wanted a three-quarter-ton pick-up truck, capable of going anywhere under possibly rigorous conditions, and on this truck I wanted a little house built like the cabin of a small boat. A trailer is difficult to maneuver on mountain roads, is impossible and often illegal to park, and is subject to many restrictions. In due time, specifications came through, for a tough, fast, comfortable vehicle, mounting a camper top--a little house with a double bed, a four-burner stove, a heater, refrigerator and lights operating on butane, a chemical toilet, closet space, storage space, windows screened against insects--exactly what I wanted.
Travels with Charley: In Search of America
John Steinbeck, pp. 5,6,7.
My ego is not so inflated as to think that I am riding with John Steinbeck across America. Yet, the genius of a good writer is that he or she may take you as a passenger--their traveling companion--on their written journey. I accept his invitation. He has the room. I have the time.
On April 14, 2011, to take liberties with Steinbeck's words, Zoomer, "in due time, specifications came through...exactly what I wanted" was delivered to me. Frankly, I did not know exactly what I wanted--what was possible to want. I still don't know precisely what I want--what the life I am to lead is missing.
As much an optimist as I put myself out to be--as much as I have lived my life as--I did not know whether my body had come to the end of its line. Had my body closed the line of credit it extended to me to use--to move through my life?
The intent--the purpose--of my journey with Zoomer is to determine what my physical limits are. Put another way, how far may I travel. My mind still works. Zoomer and I know that that is not enough. She has not lived through a Minnesota wintertime, but, my stories do not snow her--she finds them chilling. My goal? The scope of my pursuits--downtown St. Paul and its environs--is far smaller than Steinbeck's.
Wintertime memories cloud my optimism of the distance I may travel. If I may be so bold--if I may divine--past wintertime's isolation shall remain the past.
I am not asking that Zoomer and I see America. I do not seek a four-burner stove, or a refrigerator. Although heater, and windows screened from insects would be nice. I can get by with Joy the Joystick, Brainy the Blockhead, and Zoomer. I can get by with Sally the swing-away arm, Selia the seat recline, Lars the leg tilt, and Ellen the elevate, if I must.
Zoomer, may we discover our country. How far may we go? Where must we not go? When may we not go? Night. On freeways. When may we go? During winter? In snow? On ice?
As Zoomer and I embark on a journey to create a new life, I watch a new college graduate take his tentative steps toward a new life--an adult life. I would not change my place for his--I have gone through the angst that awaits him. John, may we travel with you to discover our country--to find our way.
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