Going mostly on instinct, I limited each line to 38 characters, wrote the first entry 73 lines long, and planned to make each subsequent verse one line shorter. If all went as hoped, I figured the final line would be something significant, even if most of the others might be forgettable.

Leaping ahead to the present, Ramble has been somewhat miraculous to me; as you might expect, it changed dramatically over time… and so have I. For the first, longest verses, I vented in detail about momentous developments, including some of the bigger political and global issues of those days. Progressively, I grew more and more daunted in facing the need to communicate things of real importance concisely. For anyone arriving at a crossroads in life with ability and time to write, I encourage a similar writing challenge. If you don’t have years and years to devote, begin with a five-line poem, then count down four, three, two and one: In my experience, it’s a productive approach at focusing oneself.

This website did not exist when I started writing Ramble, but it features all the most recent entries. Since writing number 17 in early 2008 and publishing it here the next day, I’ve written seven others that I’ve instantly published. One year ago, I wrote and added #6 in honor of my son Riley.

Hoping your interest runs deeper, I’m proud to share a few of my favorite rambles. They span from the project’s earliest days through until now, almost; #5 was written this past March. Below, all make their debut. The very next chapter of Arc of the Poet will end this tale, while also seeing Ramble through to its finale. I appreciate your interest immensely, and hope you will stay tuned, keep in touch, and enjoy everything life has to offer.

Ramble
by Roger Darnell

2002: #70

Darnells, 2002.

Our first home in Boone, 2002.

Spring break, 2003.

So, on a weekend, what exactly is it
that’s keeping me away from tackling
one of these longer-form projects of
personal origination? Not exactly an
easy question to answer, but I do
realize that the key to “jumping” when
I get the opportunity depends upon me
getting through this. My first
reaction is to think about these other
standing items: the next novel from
my step father-in-law; the electronic
books and developments underway for my
father-in-law; the screenplay project
which is certainly a priority at the
moment; and after that, my sort of
aimless, hard to pin-down hesitation
in knowing exactly which project to
“jump” into. If I get that far, there
is certainly one project I think of,
but knowing that I need to be making
daily progress with these other
initiatives — plus of course finding
my third client and landing them –
it’s a very sticky cobweb I have to
spin my way through to actually begin
contemplating launching my efforts.
It’s easier to pick up a book, do
some straightening in my office, write
my mom or my brother an email, or go
and see what it is that Amelia and her
mother are up to. The ability to
actually focus on that creative work,
to make it absolutely phenomenal, is
a goal I am passionate about for good
reasons: if I pursue it, I want it to
be great, to succeed where my other
completed creative pursuits have not.
I can remember reading about A.E.
Housmann, coming to see that after he
wrote A Shropshire Lad, he essentially
retired from writing poetry. His
powerful words, written before he
reached 25, I believe, touched me very
deeply when I was young, and I was
pretty determined to follow-through on
my poetic pursuits; seeing an end to
the achievements of someone I sought
to emulate at such an early age, I was
troubled as I considered my future.
I’ve always thought about writing
like my favorite authors, and making
movies like my favorite filmmakers,
and I can see that failing to achieve
something close in any of these areas
would be a significant disappointment
in my life. So, if I’m to live the
life I’ve aspired to for so long, I
need to create every aspect of those
successes that are so far immaterial.
I’m extremely grateful for the dreams
which drive me on; having them is a
gift… and the more readily I can see
them, the better my chances at keeping
the fire of determination alive within
me. Continuing on at the pace that my
wife and I are enjoying, we’ll pay off
two homes, live a great life and raise
two children with much love and joy;
hallelujah! By seizing any chances to
write I can put more icing on my cake.

…

2003: #67

Indian Campground.

I am writing from a place that has
evolved since the beginning of this
project, but it’s the place that we
envisioned prior to relocating here,
and I have attained it more than once
over these past two years. It is a
place of harmony… where I can enjoy
our beautiful forest surroundings, the
peace of trickling waterfalls and the
dazzling brilliance of sunlight sifted
through treetops and reflected from
flat eddies in the creek’s shimmering
waters. Even the buzzing of insects
is a joy to behold here, because they
are brilliantly contrasted with those
sounds from locales we have occupied
in the past. I can immerse in this
splendor of nature because my wife and
my daughter are also enjoying harmony
today… out at the library or perhaps
playing at a park… and our son grows
contentedly inside his mother’s womb,
slowly but surely becoming. All along
the journey that has brought us here,
this place has existed, but often it
lies beyond our grasp. Even during
times of peace, some unexplainable
phenomena occupy our energies to the
extent that we pre-conceive some of
the difficulties we might face, or we
puzzle over challenges on the outer
peripheries of our lives. These past
few nights, my wife has dreamt of the
most horrible situations with our
daughter… and as I laid sleepless
but exhausted in bed last night, I too
was visited with torturous visions…
as if imagining a benign scrape on our
daughter’s elbow isn’t horrifying in
itself. Such thoughts prompt me, on a
morning like this one, to gaze at my
daughter with such profound love… to
realize the limitation of the security
I can offer as she, too, continues to
become. And the blessing that is most
evident is this place, and all that it
means to us in our hearts and minds.
For here, aside from the riches nature
surrounds us with, we are also wealthy
in loving family and the overflowing
fruits of nurturing, wholesome values.
Beauty, fine arts, fun, adventure,
bonds of love, community and self-
identity are giving our child a unique
and solid perspective in the world,
and she, together with her cousins,
will shepherd our little boy all the
days of his childhood, until he grows
with them into a full human being.
These children, invested with the very
best we have to offer, in a place that
seems as though it will always hold
its magic on its very surface… a
a simple empire that knows, respects
and admires them… have every chance
of becoming great. These virtues
kindle my thoughts on this summer day.

…

December 2003: #61

Walk with Amelia.

Recalling the occasion of the father
returning home to his two-year-old
daughter, after an absence of some
five days, a flood of heartwarming
emotions is the first overwhelming
sensation that seizes the stage in the
retelling. It’s a feeling that stays
strong through the end, just as well.
First, though, it’s also important to
note the quality of their communiques
during the trip; many very funny
Flash email cards from Hallmark made
the journey through the Internet to
reach from Boone to Hollywood, and
they were quite touching and
sentimental. “Miss Kiss” is one that
remains embedded in Amelia’s mind,
about the time when her Daddy was in
California, when each was very sad.
Well, the phone conversations also
ran to new lengths and nuances…
giving both a chance to express
the love both had become so adept at
expressing through touch. Just as
is the case for anyone, the voice
on the phone can be a source for
painful feelings of things missing,
like sight and touch. This was the
most poignant instant yet in the
daughter’s perception of “missing
Daddy,” and the Daddy’s, too. So,
by the time the date arose and the
daddy closed in on his return home,
anticipation was extraordinarily
high. He arrived, and he looked in
at his sleeping daughter in her
bedroom, and he and his beloved wife
seized the moment to lay down, rest
and catch-up together. Somehow, the
now-accustomed lonesomeness for each
other had added a new dimension,
which seemed to capture most of the
gravity in itself: their daughter.
The parents were joyful and focused
on ending the pain of parting that
they’d all suffered together, each
in their individual way. So, as
soon as an acceptable amount of nap
time had transpired, the father
climbed into bed with the little one,
and upon her waking up, he met the
sweetest words he could never even
imagine: in her whisper, she told
him, “I missed you.” One little hand
on each of his cheeks, her smile said
the pain was gone, and he kissed her,
until he had to bury his face against
her chest and give in to the utter
sobs — quiet, happy ones — that rose
to the surface of his emotions. She
heard Daddy laugh, “Happy tears Baby!”

…

November 12, 2005: #34

Riley and Daddy, Oct. 29, 2005.

So, let’s discuss this ‘writer’ in more detail.
Fastidious, he’ll have to be for sure, to make
progress in creating something brilliant
enough to ford his fate to any new height.
First things first, though, as he knows.
There’s a story to be told. It must be
crafted superbly. Its language must be
inviting, captivating… calculating. Spot on.
That’s what’s missing – the ability to step
into the zone, where the mind can focus
completely on artistically rendering a tale
with depth, heart, soul, and stirrings of
ancient orders for living human spirits.
My goodness… it’s no wonder I’ve decided
in the past to build up to this. It’s quite the
pedestal I’ve parked my expectations on.
Whatever writing I take on, there are
rewards to be had, but creating content
I can own is what I’m driven to accomplish.
That seems something profound to savor.
So, there’s a story to be crafted, as
described. Making headway on that will
be a respectable challenge in and of itself.
Organizationally, strategically, I’m proud
to say that I’m starting to gain traction.
And I’ve done my share of long-form
writing projects in the past. If I’m lucky,
my future will have more big projects than
are now in my past. And all will get made.

…

February 1, 2006: #32

Camp Merriewoode, Sept. 9, 2006.

Riley, Amelia, and unknown doggie, Sept. 9, 2006.

Daddy and Riley, Sept. 9, 2006.

Amelia, Riley and Mommy, Sept. 9, 2003.

Relating to my children is becoming more
and more important to me. When I hold
either of them, I realize how very much
I love them. The physical connections
between us remind me that I have made
a person, who is now growing up. As
they fare in the world, so do I, in every
sense of the word. The life that spread
itself over 36 years is now off the charts,
quite literally. Our mental range is now
restricted to the swift currents of the past
53 months, since the responsibility that
came home with our first baby settled in.
The dedication required to fulfill parental
obligations is exactly what my wife and I
were set to provide, at that point in life.
We took a risk, struggled at first, and then
hit a stride like we never thought possible.
By the time we get through our next CPA
meeting, I expect to have a distinct plan
in hand for our financial future, including
early retirement, at least by a couple years.
The routine is rewarding us with security,
and it makes me very enthusiastic about
the world my children live in. And yet, the
days of our lives bring us grief, despair,
disaster, destruction… and cancer. These
Darnell children, so important and special,
how much security can I truly offer them?
My apprehension can never be fully offset,
but when we hold each other and know
that all is well, today, we are living large.

…

March 13, 2007: #24

Darnell family, Nov. 25, 2006.

An attempted ode on the beginning of life.
These days, the agenda involves sorting
powers of attorneys, wills for life and death,
guardians for children in the event both
parents die, separate trustees of the estate,
and of course backups for those named as
heirs to each station, plus their backups.
I have seen ends of lives – they’re not pretty.
No one ever seems prepared. But in time,
looking back, it sort of looks like each was,
as the last of their waves eventually receded.
Even the pyramids will return to sand in time!
My little insurance gift, or my little empire
of feats, finances and – pardon the popular
British expression – fuck-all (as it will no
doubt all turn out to be), may not amount
to a hill of beans in the record books, but
I hope it will be a real blessing to my family.
They are the joy and devotion of my life, and
the best times I’ve passed here have been
the spans I’ve spent in warm happiness,
laughter, and even attending life’s sorrows,
with them. Life offers more joy, with Roger
or not, with you or not, as it will always be.

…

December 8, 2007: #20

Riley on a walk with Daddy, May 26, 2007.

Riley and Amelia Darnell, May 12, 2007.

Amelia and Mommy, May 12, 2007.

Claire, Amelia and Riley, Aug. 28, 2007.

A journey. A commitment. An idea.
An inspiration.
An experiment. A reward. A victory.
A therapy. A relief. A confession.
An approach. A monument. A cry.
A lament. An admission. An outreach.
A shame. An act. A gesture. A display.
An indiscretion. A performance.
An elixir. An epiphany. An enigma.
A catalyst. A catharsis. A transformation.
To discover. To dedicate. To evolve.
To relish.
To learn. To reach. To will.
To fathom. To expect. To purge.
To try. To excel. To blossom.
To listen. To understand. To accept.
To observe. To absolve. To interpret.
To relate. To channel.
To absorb. To celebrate. To comprehend.

…

November 29, 2008: #11

Uncle Scott and Amelia, Nov. 27, 2008.

Pa, Riley and Aunt Susan, Nov. 27, 2008.

tonight I watched the pieces fall into place
the words used to describe my own values
either to someone else or myself, either in
reality or some hoped-for future, all these
observations and ruminations on the most
important building ingredients I weigh
were united and elegantly whirled together
as my life’s journey-to-date was laid bare,
and what I saw was that it added me all up
as this guy on the planet who has lived.
And from now on, I can add new material.

…

March 24, 2011: #5

Roger and Beth, April 26, 2011.

Tonight, I am very thankful to be a son,
a grandson, a brother, a nephew,
a cousin, a friend, a husband, and a dad.
Also, I’m grateful that my kids have much
to be thankful for, and they both know it.

…

Thank you very much for your interest in my education and exploits as a poet over the past 20 years. With Arc of the Poet, I’m aiming to share the most interesting highlights and lowlights as briefly, and as colorfully, as possible.

Even before 1990 had officially begun, I recall feeling anxious for it to be over. It truly was an endurance test for me, involving one marathon ordeal after another. I turned 23 that year, with no fanfare, and I took that as a sign of maturity. I also persevered in seizing my military and college experiences with the best of my thoughts and abilities, which I saw as evidence of my growing strength and confidence. By the time it ended, 1990 gave me a great deal in return for all my efforts.

Looking back now, 21 years later, I think my determination to forge my own career path as a freelance professional is the richest of many valuable life lessons I carried into 1990. For that reason, I now have extra appreciation for this poem I stopped to write back on December 30, 1989. Its final stanza puts that important mindset into clear perspective.

Another idea I embraced during those days was that there’s no such thing as defeat, only education. In January, I set my sights on graduating in December with two B.A. degrees. In the course of earning the 33 upper-level college credits necessary to pull that off, I took on new duties with my Air Force Reserve unit, and worked as a freelance word processor and audiovisual stage-hand. All that work barely kept me above the poverty level, but my motivations were clear; since every choice was completely self-driven, I was determined to succeed.

Through all these experiences, I was being graded by instructors, supervisors in many industries, military officers, professionals stretching from the top to the bottom of the creative industry, and even editors and readers at my university’s newspaper. For the last 16 months before graduating, I wrote a weekly humor column entitled “Observations.” Looking over the journal I kept, I can see that one day in October, the editor in chief told me point blank: “I think some of what you write is shit…” I cut myself some slack, knowing how hard I had to work to write those columns, but took her criticism on the chin, and kept on learning and trying to improve. Around the same time, I failed to win a big scholarship I had applied and interviewed for, and experienced some other disappointing setbacks.

Fortunately, a few key positive developments shaped up, too, and together with the unwavering support from my family, my good friend and roommate Jay Lerew, and many other close friends, that proved to be all I needed. My humor column helped me win a Scripps Howard Foundation Fellowship… but much more importantly, it also helped me win the heart of an amazing girl named Beth Ann Kiefert. Friends, I am very proud to say that the addition of this young lady into my life is the key ingredient in the joyous, rewarding life walk I’ve been enjoying ever since.

From June through August that year, Beth took off with a few friends to backpack across Europe. Ultimately, that period was intensely productive for me, as I maniacally threw myself into one duty or commitment after another, trying my best to stay busy until her return. I set goals to write a novella, a full-length screenplay, and a collection of my poetry specifically for children. Although none of those projects came together during those weeks, I did organize my poems chronologically, type them up and begin preparing a few submissions for local writing competitions.

By the time December was ending, I had collected my diplomas and my honorable Air Force discharge, and started building a new life with the girl of my dreams. Suddenly, my next-level goals were coming within reach. At that magical moment in time, I saw literary recognition and success as one possible path to financial freedom, which I felt would allow me to read and write to my heart’s content. While I also had to recommit to the opportunities I could line-up as a freelance wage-earner, I began mounting serious efforts to get my creative writing into print. Guiding and supporting my ambitions was this beautiful, energetic, vivacious girl, who that year gave me the most prized of worldly possessions for keeps: true love.

Back in May, 1998, Beth and I joined most of her Kiefert and Julien families in Tallahassee, Florida, for the wedding of her sister Ann and Chuck Bowling. I married into my wife’s family back in 1992, so I was very much at home with everyone gathered, as we all enjoyed an unforgettable weekend together with Chuck’s family, and their many friends who joined in the fun. The day before their wedding, Ann and Chuck invited us all to join them at one of their favorite places: The Birdsong Nature Center. Located in Thomasville, Georgia, just above the Florida-Georgia border, Birdsong is a 565-acre preserve of wildflower meadows, forests, ponds and swamps. Home to a dazzling array of birds and wildlife, it’s pretty much heaven on Earth. We all learned a lot that day about nature, about Chuck’s father’s ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat … and a neat program where the center provides essential nesting homes for Bluebirds. So naturally, when Ann and Chuck’s daughter Grace was born, we decided to sponsor a Birdsong Nature Center Bluebird home in her name. And since my mother marked so many special occasions when I was growing up with the added gift of an original poem, I wrote this one for our first niece.

And then, when our second niece Claire was born in 2000, just 10 months ahead of our own baby girl, we kept the tradition alive with her own Birdsong Bluebird haven, and this dedication I wrote 10 years ago.

Happily, Birdsong’s still there in that lovely spot in Southern Georgia, and so are the Bluebird homes dedicated to our nieces. In many nice ways, it symbolizes Ann and Chuck’s values, a lot of cherished family memories, and two young ladies who are very special to a lot of us.

In case you missed yesterday’s report, we did finally catch my dad (aka Big Jim, or BJ) at Cracker Barrel, along with Peggy, my step-mom. We all had a nice dinner together somewhere around 9pm, and then we all made it to the Ramada there in Crossville, Tennessee. But darned if BJ didn’t have another trick up his sleeve, and sure enough, he beat us to Boone… by about an hour!

First, though, I need to back up a little. In my exhaustion last night, I failed to give any indication of how lovely Tennessee appeared to us, especially once we’d passed Nashville. I tried snapping a few pictures, but the best one shows a pretty sunset scene through a thoroughly bug-smeared windshield (shrug). By the way, all the trip’s pictures should be up by Wednesday, and I’ll let you know where to look.

Awaiting us on our arrival were Beth’s mom Ginny, sister Ann and brother-in-law Chuck (donning video gear), our nearly three-year-old niece Grace and her baby-sister Claire (7-8 months), plus BJ (donning an unmistakable ear-to-ear grin).

So now, you have some idea of how amazing the journey is to our new home, and if you accept our standing invitation to visit — for snow skiing, white-water rafting, golfing, camping, hiking or baby visiting (Amelia’s due on 8/31) — we promise a great time with many more laughs… and we vow also to listen attentively to the travel tales you bring to share. After hanging with us across these 2,400 miles, we owe you that much, at least….

Thanks again for all the well-wishes. You all helped us see our journey through.

Love — Roger, Beth, Maggie, Callie, Amelia-in-the-pod

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell
. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

The wake-up call came at six Central time, and it actually succeeded in getting Beth to arise (it most certainly was wasted on me). Once awake, this hotel wasn’t a hard one to leave quickly, but we were a little worried to find Callie sitting in the front window, considering that pets weren’t allowed. Oh well — we figured that, if we receive a call from someone asking why they’d seen a one-eyed calico cat in our hotel room’s window, we’ll just say,

“You saw a what?!”

Whisked rapidly toward the ready Montero were both the calico and the gray cats, semiconscious in their carriers, along with all our gear. The road called out to us, and soon our racing engine and spinning tires joined the chorus. This day was to be all about making time, and it helped that we only grabbed a drive-thru breakfast from BK. Blasting east, we stopped long enough in Oklahoma City for us to make an Internet hook-up from the Visitors’ Center outside the Air Force Base, during which time I finally sent the Day One dispatch and downloaded 55 more awaiting work emails and a few digital ‘cheers’ from several of you across the country; thanks to those — plus all the good vibes we’re picking up from everyone else rooting for us — we know we’re living a dream, and this trip has been a blast.

In trying to follow-through with the style of my original travelogue from our move to LA, I’m picking my spots to fill you in on the most notable sights and experiences from our trip; however, there’s so much that happens during days like these, it gets sort of tricky guessing the most important aspects to relate. Beyond the mile markers, the geography and the places written about on all the signs one sees, such a trip lets you see how other people live their lives, or sometimes it just shows you places where people appear to have no place nor any noticeable impact whatsoever. Reflecting on the highlights of these days, that seemed worth mentioning. Each day on the road, we saw a lot that just made us shake our heads in disbelief that people can do such strange things, but we’ve traveled enough now to know we still have a lot to learn — and that we do better when we respect others’ differences.

After screaming across cowboy country in Oklahoma, plus the vast Indian country which occupies the eastern side of that state, we cracked Arkansas, which not only had great highways, it also had lots of water all around on both sides of the road. State parks seemed to cover the first fifty miles, so needless to say, the area made a positive impression on us. Soon, though, the land got a little swampy and flat for our tastes. Little Rock barely registered, and unfortunately the rest of the state similarly fell away as the hours flew. Somewhere near the border for Tennessee, at last, we heard from BJ: He was honing-in on Nashville and expecting to rendezvous at 5pm Central there with my step-mom Peggy. He stopped driving at 8pm and Peggy was hot on his tail, having driven down through the afternoon from Greenville, Illinois, to prove her own road-warrior prowess. At about 9pm we’d made it to their stop: Crossville, Tennessee. We found them at the Cracker Barrel and joined them for dinner, before synchronizing our watches to coordinate Sunday’s last 160-mile part of our journey, set to end next to Rocky Creek in Boone, North Carolina….

Tomorrow, the new beginning. Stay tuned.

Love — Roger, Beth, cats, Amelia-to-be

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell

. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

Waking up, of course, there they were, under the bed; and there I was, lifting the bed so Beth could scramble under to grab them, give each of our cats their ‘medicine’ and stow them in their carriers. This stuff is getting easier….

We’d settled into a nice hotel on night one, but still the sounds of the highway and the endless passing trains got us going early — or so we thought. We indulged in the free breakfast at the hotel’s diner and, back in the room, I uploaded my “Countdown” message to you folks (and downloaded some 80+ work-related messages from that first day), and we moved out. Looking at the clock in the Montero, I realized we were still on Pacific time; I pushed the hour button twice to put us on Central time, and all of the sudden, it was 11am. “Ready for lunch?” we joked.

A picturesque mountain towers above Flagstaff; all our map tells us is that the peak is Pt. Humphrey, Arizona’s highest at 12,663 feet. We watched it fade away in the rear-views, and then saw the landscape become a kaleidoscope of more harsh, dry, desert scenes.

Still cruising along at 5,000 feet or so toward Albuquerque, the vistas included amazing canyons of all varieties, rolling hillsides of mint-green grasses and beige, orange and crimson-colored earth and boulders of all forms imaginable… including boulder mountains. Finally, the horizon flattened out and the hills rolled off in all directions, showing us treeless, wide-open prairies of grass, rimmed all around the outside perimeter by distinct mountains. Later came a bizarre stretch of road through a countryside ruined by the El Malpais lava beds. As far as we could see, the ground was made of crumbly black rocks that erupted from the earth’s undulating surface. Even more weird, the property owners still felt the need to maintain fences on this stuff, so across these awkward, uneven hills and dips, I traced a fairly new fence marking off one piece of spoiled land from another. Sorry, we didn’t get the number on the for-sale sign.

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell

. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

Thursday, May 31, 2001: Simply Grand

It was time to get up and get moving, but by letting Maggie slip under the covers and curl up, we were able to grab a few more minutes’ rest. Lying there returning to our senses, all the great memories were just cobwebs; the focus was all about getting on the road. All the last junk was piled near the door soon enough, and we made it to Budget by seven, just after they’d opened, to get Dad registered to drive the truck. We were among the first customers in our favorite breakfast spot on the planet (thanks Alan and Fran!) and added BJ (Big Jim) to the long list of immediate family members who have traveled the country to eat there with us. Anyway, that was the last of LA. We got back to our place, loaded the car and pulled away. Ventura Boulevard to the 405 North entrance, merged onto the 101 South ramp, and left a very happy time in our lives behind us. 101 to 134, past Glendale where we’d first landed… and on toward San Bernardino. According to plan, BJ was driving the truck, towing Beth’s car, and we stuck pretty close in our Montero, navigating through the dense traffic and using our walkie-talkies sparingly. Once finally up to speed out past 210 East on Interstate 10, Beth admitted she was finally “excited.” Before that, there was too much work to be done to prepare, but at last, the trip was underway and we were up-to-speed.

As on our previous trip, the cats each received a vet-prescribed sedative on this morning about 30 minutes before departure time; and just as before, the improvement on their dispositions almost seemed to warrant full-time sedation (just kidding, of course). This is the way they “see the country” — doped-up inside their carriers, looking through their blankets out their wire-doors at each other via the thinnest of eye slits. And at the ends of days, we learned before that they’ll get a little exercise slinking around our hotel rooms all night before meeting in a close curl under the bed that’s almost impossible to reach once the ritual is set to begin again the next morning. Needless to say, they never admit to the “cuddling up together” thing….

We made our way to the 15, then followed it north into the mountains above San Bernardino. The smog plus “June gloom” was at its worst, and back in LA we’d already shared several laughs with BJ about the mountains “just over there” which couldn’t been seen. We were soon clear of the smog, but then it was the mountains themselves that became a little unappealing, as the Budget truck towing our car slowed to 35 mph trying to crest the worst of them. On we all steered to I-40 East, working through the mountains, at last, to the first fuel stop 160 miles out of Los Angeles, somewhere near the beginning of the Mojave Desert. Our Montero has a temp gauge for the outside; just before the first stop, we’d watched that gauge climb to 110. After filling-up, BJ figured the moving truck’s gas mileage at 7 miles per gallon, and the Mobil station we’d picked added insult to injury: $2.20 per gallon for diesel, and $2.40 per gallon for regular unleaded. We all had a good laugh over the receipt, proving perhaps that the smog had done is work….

Beth titled this photo, “the last time we saw BJ.”

By the time we paid our $20 and actually gazed down into the canyon for the first time, we felt it had pretty much lived up to its reputation. We took some snaps that, like these words, don’t do justice, but together with our memories they represent the Grand Canyon to us. One photo not to miss is the one of Beth’s belly with the GC in the background; this of course is our photo of Amelia with the Grand Canyon. We SO entertain ourselves.

Then we left, heading south out of the park the way we’d gone in, and eventually we turned off to highway 180, a red line on our map proceeding straight to the southeast to Flagstaff. Perhaps twenty miles into that route, the countryside had become green and lush; the elevation was around 7,000 feet.

It bears mention that by this time, after having seen probably twenty signs warning for “elk,” I had already worn elk-spotting humor far too thin. In the waning light, I strained my eyes, and saw one! Then Beth saw a huge one standing just off in the distance, through the trees. We looped the Montie around — there were no other vehicles in sight, and none came until after we’d messed around scaring a whole herd of elk off, trying to photograph them and finally moved on toward Flagstaff about five minutes later.

Love — Roger, Beth, cats, Amelia-to-be

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell
. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

Wednesday, May 30, 2001: The Countdown Begins

As I sat at my desk at the end of the business day (night) on Tuesday, I knew I really needed to get some sleep to be ready to start loading the truck bright and early the next morning; surveying my office, though — still largely intact — it finally also sunk-in to me that I needed to get it packed, once and for all. Fast forward to 7:30 a.m. Wednesday morning: I’d worked all the way through the night, the office was 98% done, the house was a scattered array of semi-packed boxes, furniture and closed boxes, all ready for the truck, and we were off to pick up the truck from Budget in Van Nuys on Sepulveda Blvd., the same place where we’d returned our truck from the 1998 move West. This truck was a little bigger — a sign that the move was a success? — and the car carrier, destined to transport our Honda Accord back across the country, may have been the same one we picked up from New Orleans on the previous trip. Beth had slept very little as well, so the recollection of truck-packing day is a little blurry. We were smart enough to request a couple of movers to come to our house at 9 to load the truck, and by 11, they were done. By 5 p.m., much of the “little stuff” was handled, I’d napped for a couple of hours, and we were starting to visualize the arrival of my “volunteer truck-driver” father at the Burbank airport the next morning at 10:30 and our subsequent departure, which we’d been planning for over six months….

A little side-note here for those of you who haven’t heard from us in a while. There’s a much longer, more detailed and drawn-out story here that will await you upon your first visit to our new home in the mountains of Boone, North Carolina… but essentially, we decided to buy a home Beth’s mom and step-father were planning to build in Boone (anticipating getting pregnant in the not-too-distant future), then we got pregnant (not to worry — the above-mentioned ‘drawn-out story’ focuses very little on this part), and now we’re moving to Boone to stay in another of Ginny and Bill’s Boone “castles” beside Rocky Creek until our new home is ready. To answer the obvious question, we had a fantastic time in Los Angeles and accomplished so much more than we could have hoped for… but this opportunity to own a wonderful home in an amazingly beautiful place — and, more importantly, to have our little one growing up with cousins (including our God-children Grace and Claire), aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc. — was too fanastic to miss.

What at first seemed like a glimmer of a neat idea became our goal and now, it would appear, our ‘next adventure,’ and we are suitably thrilled.

With that said, though, we leave behind many very dear true friends that made our California Dream something we’ll always treasure… and the only way we can cope with the sadness of saying goodbye to them is to hope and trust we’ll all find ourselves together again as part of our new adventures.

), we were happy to receive the call from my dad that he’d caught the flight out a day early, and he was just a couple of hours from Burbank. Beth did some final clean-up on the house as I grabbed Dad from the airport. Though it was a little late his time, I decided to tour him through Coldwater Canyon up to Mulholland so he could see the view of the valley; unfortunately, the only thing to be viewed there on this evening was the inside of a fog cloud. We found our way back down Woodcliff, through Sherman Oaks and to our now virtually spotless little house, which the landlord had already been showing and offering at a rate ($2800 p/mo!) that was almost twice as much as we’d been renting it for over the past two years. As much as he seemed impressed with the place, the price-tag really got dad’s head shaking in disbelief.

Finally, Dad slipped to his room and his awaiting air mattress, and we found our way to our own air mattress in our room for our last night’s sleep. So many great things had happened for us in the past three and a half years, and we’d enjoyed so many great visits with our friends over the previous weeks, we were reeling with emotions and something of a numb, over-tired, excited anticipation. And what of the cats? It’d been an exciting, un-nerving couple of days for them, too, what with all the boxes and handtrucks, etc. Callie had spent the day in the closet buried under a couple of towels, seemingly certain that the end of the world was at hand. Maggie’s eyes couldn’t have been any more wide open, and even as we fell asleep, she continued her survey of the empty house… as well as her noisy, troubled, in-our-faces reports of her findings throughout the night. As we awoke at around 5:15 and considered slipping out from the warm covers into the chilly morning, Beth found a way to trick Maggie into being quiet for just a little while longer… but that’s tomorrow’s story.

More to come soon. Our best to all of you!

Love — Roger, Beth, cats, Amelia-to-be

Escape from LA by Roger Darnell
. Countdown: Wednesday, May 30, 2001 – The Countdown Begins
. Day 1: Thursday, May 31, 2001 – Simply Grand
. Day 2: Friday, June 1, 2001 – Catching Up
. Day 3: Saturday, June 2, 2001 – Almost There
. Day 4: Sunday, June 3, 2001 – Home At Last…

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The mountains that arose as we neared our destination got bigger and bigger. Finally, our maps had names for them. We stopped to call the power company to get our power turned on and the phone company to get our phones fired-up that day, since we were a little ahead of schedule. Green lights were given and acted on. Before driving further, I insisted on taking a picture of us in the California desert with the snow-peaked mountains in the background and the Golden State’s purple desert flowers clustering from the sand (didn’t turn out). When we got within 40 miles of our destination, we started calling the mountains in the distance our own, and looking hard at them as we passed from the 2,460-mile blur of “Scenery” that changes into “Home”.

That very change began to occur quickly. We soon ran out of turns from our interstate, I-10, onto 210 West toward Pasadena, past Arcadia where Beth will be picking up some shifts at the Outback Steakhouse, past Pasadena where we caught 134 West, got off on 2 (Glendale Freeway) South, then dove off the freeway to find a street we could place on our Rand McNally LA Street Guide. It wasn’t long before we found Verdugo, the pathway to our home, then came Barrington Way, and the little building we recognized from the pictures.

It was about two o’clock in the afternoon. We got stuck at the gate but heard voice of property manager Ondine call, “Roger?” She came out and we had a time checking out the gates, the property, and the townhome we’d eventually come to accept as ours. When we compared what a great and clean home we’d left in Orlando to what we could see of the condition of the exterior and interior of the building, much was left to be desired. Anyway, since we weren’t in much of a position to go anywhere else, we signed the lease and came to terms with our disappointment in the course of laboring to pull apart “The Load” and move the pieces into unit three. With the arrival of our things, the place grew more acceptable. We knew it had a lot going for it. The neighbors started appearing and introducing themselves; that was nice. It seemed to be a charming area. When we took a break, we rode our bikes around the corner to get a bottle of Evian (that tell you something about the tapwater?) and saw that our neighborhood was indeed looking cool.

Later, after unloading at least 10-feet worth of our 15-foot truck into the place, we closed everything up, let the cats out of the bathroom, and went to find some food. One of our neighbors, an old codger-looking whiskered guy named Pete Weismuller (said Johnny was his uncle) told us there was a new Chinese restaurant right around the corner. The one we found wasn’t new, but it did the trick. Soon, we were back into our new home with our cats and most of our stuff. We looked forward to being done unloading the truck, but both wished it would unload itself. I called my mom and she breathed a big sigh of relief. After that, Beth and I did the same thing. While I was getting the computer set up, she built the bed. I found a couple of friends in Orlando online and shocked them with the news. “You’re where?” Then I went in, took the issue of Glimmer Train short stories we’d saved for the trip but misplaced until only an hour before from Beth’s sleeping hands, and climbed into my own bed, in my own bedroom in Glendale. The trip was finished, and now it can rest.

Thank you for tuning in!

How to Change Neighborhoods In Only Five Days by Roger Darnell
. Day 1: Thursday, January 1, 1998 – Flaming in Florida
. Day 2: Friday, January 2, 1998 – Together in Texas
. Day 3: Saturday, January 3, 1998 – Tex Take Two
. Day 4: Sunday, January 4, 1998 – Praising Arizona
. Day 5: Monday, January 5, 1998 – Glad 2BN Glendale

Apparently the Houston La Quinta #9 (the one hiding my beeper) had reported our banana fervor to La Quinta Fort Stockton during the night, because when we arrived for our free continental breakfast, all the good ones were taken, and the staff closely watched our every move. We were tired anyway, as we’d challenged ourselves to get on the road early, so we went through the motions and got underway.

The rainbow-sherbet morning sky promised sunshine from behind wide cottony smears, and once we were up to speed on our interstate, it all came bursting through. El Paso was our first objective, and we made it easily within a couple of hours with Beth behind the wheel for her first time as a truck driver. Next, we both met New Mexico for the first time. With the miles piling up and our final destination approaching in less than a day, only the spectacular sights of Tucson could slow our progress even a little. Storms raged on the mountain range to the south while magic hour rose-gold sunlight fractured the jagged peaks to the north. Hopefully my traveling pictures will do justice to the dusty, dazzling gemstone we witnessed there in person.

The day’s goal was to reach Phoenix, with its 370-mile proximity to the City of the Angels — and we made it just after darkness had settled. After dinner at IHOP that’s better left undescribed, we turned into a Fairfield Inn for one last night on the road. I’ve mentioned the cats a few times in these notes, but I haven’t described their hilarious habits upon arriving in our room each night. Beth dutifully totes in their carriers, and after all our other essentials are inside and the door closed, their carriers are opened. My guess is that their low-slung, slinking postures are in response to the shaking, vibrating centers of gravity they’ve suffered through on the day’s journey; they don’t trust the earth to be steady, so they nearly crawl in searching out a dark, cramped, non-moving corner in our new place. But they have to crane their necks and open their eyes so wide and ears so perked it must hurt — to sense anything that might otherwise surprise them. They jump up onto things, landing in their crouched position but with neck extended and wired eyes catching everything. We laugh at them and have even gotten pretty good at sleeping while they pass over, under, around and between us in the night. In the morning, we always find them in close company, packed into the four-inch space between the headboard and the wall. After tomorrow, it’ll be no more valiums for them. But manana, one last time, it’ll be buenos noches….

How to Change Neighborhoods In Only Five Days by Roger Darnell
. Day 1: Thursday, January 1, 1998 – Flaming in Florida
. Day 2: Friday, January 2, 1998 – Together in Texas
. Day 3: Saturday, January 3, 1998 – Tex Take Two
. Day 4: Sunday, January 4, 1998 – Praising Arizona
. Day 5: Monday, January 5, 1998 – Glad 2BN Glendale