I begin with a random thought plucked from my
journal: I want people to love me as I love Mary Karr, anonymously,
without ever having met her…for using her gift to tell her story as
faithful to true as she could, so that it might serve a higher purpose.
whose feet I
prostrate myself)She's hot.
End of random thought.
This
post has got nothing to do with SEX!, by the way. I threw that into the
title because a cousin-in-law confessed to not reading most of my
travelogues, or at least not in their entirety. The last one, however,
due to its title, “Blessing the Prostate”, got his attention and he saw
it through to the end. He’s a retired minister, who I assume never had
the honor of blessing a prostate. One would assume that curiosity about a
familiar topic seduced him into reading, but I hold there is an element
of envy in the mix. I’m sure I’ll hear about it, if he is a motor and
sex aficionado and he makes it this far.
I was
going to wait until the last sentence of the post to confess my use of
SEX! as a carrot for the mule, but my conscience got the best of me.
Feels too much like false advertising…too sneaky. So, if you want to
read a few more paragraphs of personal reflections, and then an account
of Mary (from “Blessing the Prostate”, not the Virgin) performing a
motor miracle, read on. If you don’t, go have sex or watch porn or
masturbate…indulge in whatever about sex hooked you into reading up to
this point and is, at present, more enticing than reflections and
miracles.
Another cousin, who has been following
the ‘logues since their inception way back in the early 2000s, said of
my recent writing that I seem to be returning to my old style—telling
stories that will make a grown man wet his pants and roll around on the
floor holding his ribs. He says my writing went through a “dark period.”
It wasn’t said, but I assumed, that one is more desirable than the
other. I went all defensive inside, but said nothing. He meant no harm
and I own the projectile dysfunction of inserting my own fears into a
benign observation. Alas, there is progress. In the past I would have
taken a comment like that as a criticism and stopped writing for months.
I would have taken it to mean I suck, my writing sucks, it’s depressing
and nobody wants to read it. All the guru writers preach that you MUST
tell the truth, non-negotiable, and show up authentically. I take that
to mean the whole you. It brings to mind a line I crafted in a recent
letter to a writing coach I’d like to work with. I deem it one of the
finest truths to ever pass through me: “Honesty heals. Authenticity
endears. The courage to embody both inspires.” As I continue to
struggle with the call to write and the resistance to doing so, I want
to acknowledge my gratitude to those who read my travelogues—the ones
who can recount every last detail of everything I’ve ever posted (which
drops my jaw) as well as the fair weather skimmers. I’m pickled in the
paradox of audience: If I don’t have one, I’m not motivated to write; if
I do have one, I’m scared to. These travelogues are a bully-free
playground where I can mess around and get some relief from that voice
breathing down my neck, "WRITE!".
Enough
cannibalizing my creativity. On with Mary and the motor. Remember I
told you that I’ll do about anything to make sure my clients go home
with a joyous story to tell from their trip? Well, our last night in
Cuba, after the farewell dinner, the local guide and I arrange for the
participants to be driven back to the hotel from the restaurant in
1950’s convertibles. They always love it! 
To
build the suspense before the surprise, near the end of the meal, I
make a big fat lie announcement (which I do feel guilty about) that our
bus has broken down and we are working on finding alternative
transportation back to the hotel. I throw in a petition for advance
forgiveness, if it’s needed, if all we could find are horse-drawn wagons
or
those cattle trucks that we’ve seen hauling herds of Cubans through the
streets of Havana. Evil, I know, but for the enhancement of their own
enjoyment. While my group finishes up coffee and dessert, I go out front
to negotiate with the drivers, who are arguing over what route we are
going to take and how much they’ll get paid. Well, this last trip, while
I’m in the midst of all that, here comes our sweetheart of a bus
driver, who has been hauling us around for six days, to whisper in my
ear, “Gigi, you better fess up quick. Mary is in the bus, on her knees,
begging God to heal the motor.”
To
build the suspense before the surprise, near the end of the meal, I
make a big fat lie announcement (which I do feel guilty about) that our
bus has broken down and we are working on finding alternative
transportation back to the hotel. I throw in a petition for advance
forgiveness, if it’s needed, if all we could find are horse-drawn wagons
or
those cattle trucks that we’ve seen hauling herds of Cubans through the
streets of Havana. Evil, I know, but for the enhancement of their own
enjoyment. While my group finishes up coffee and dessert, I go out front
to negotiate with the drivers, who are arguing over what route we are
going to take and how much they’ll get paid. Well, this last trip, while
I’m in the midst of all that, here comes our sweetheart of a bus
driver, who has been hauling us around for six days, to whisper in my
ear, “Gigi, you better fess up quick. Mary is in the bus, on her knees,
begging God to heal the motor.”
I couldn’t leave
the negotiations to go see what she was up to, but having seen her in
worship mode at the prostate blessing, I had a visual of her walking the
aisle of the bus, touching each seat as if it were a head in a round of
duck-duck-goose and mumbling prayers of adoration to Jesus, son of the
supreme mechanic of us all. When I finally rejoined the group at the
table to confess the lie and announce the surprise, I only got as far
as, “Well, I have some good news…the bus is working…”, because Mary
jumped up out of her seat with the boing! of a jack-in-the-box, raised
both hands to the heavens and shouted, “Praise the Lord!!!I knew He
would perform a miracle!! I just knew He wouldn’t leave us stranded!!!”
She was shaking her fists as if she had God himself by the shirt collar
and was so impassioned with gratitude that she was going to lay a
slobbery kiss right on his makeshift lips. You could have folded the
silence that ensued and laid it over the casket of a fallen solider.
First, all seventeen gazes of her fellow travelers turned toward her,
and then toward each other, and then on me.
“….it never was broken down….”, I said, finishing my interrupted sentence.
Mary
dropped into her chair with a heavy “Oh…”. She took a moment to
recompose and then looked up at me like an obedient puppy waiting for
the next command.Talk about an awkward moment. Like a sacrificial lamb, I
soaked up as much of the embarrassment for her as I could, while at the
same time managing a room full of rolling eyes.
I smiled big and held it until the sniggle in my throat crept back down from whence it came.
“All
we could find,” I said “are those old cars you see out front,” opening
my arm toward the street like Bob Barker inviting the audience to gasp
at the grand prize behind the curtain.
All of the non-believers boinged! up out of their seats with the same zeal Mary exhibited at the thought of a motor miracle.
“Really?” they asked.
“Yes,
no lie…this time,” I answered. They were like kids on Christmas morning
waking to a hay ride pulled by Santa, himself, and his eight tiny
reindeer. 
The
end. I’ve got to work on how to end these nonclimaxical anecdotes. It's
all about the description. Now, you are absolutely sworn to secrecy
about the old car surprise. The chances of you knowing someone going on
one of my trips is slim, but if you do….and you tell….well, I’ll gum up
your motor mouth with moonshine. And then....well, I’ll just keep loving
you all the same and never send another birthday card.
I
really want to start getting these updates out with more regularity.
Cuba was April and now we are in June. I’ve got to catch you up on my
excursion to the gay bars in Dallas, the Vision Quest in Glenn Rose and
my stay at The Mangus Hollow Rehab for Well Behaved Muts and Strays,
where I presently reside (See Travelogue VA 24 for a description of
MHR). I’ll try to tone down the perfectionism and just crank 'em out! In
the mean time, everybody always wants to know, “Where are you off to
now??”
now-June 28 Salem, VA to navigate the murky waters of settling Pop's estate
June
28-July 9 Portsmouth, VA to visit more cousins (And, no, I am not
taking a Greyhound—see Travelogue VA 10, if you don’t know why)
July 9-19 Cuba for a training trip
July 19-Aug 1 Oakland, CA to visit long time friend
Aug
2-9 Easter Island, Chile to kinda train for a tour itinerary I hope to
lead with HE Travel, I've been wanting to go there for a long time
anyway
Aug 9-? wherever I find a tour to lead or a friend to visit or a place that draws me
As always, with much love and gratitude for you, G
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